Fall from Grace
by Star of the North
Summary: Journey back in time to the lives before the legend. Read the story of the two strongest women who had stood in the background of Tale of a Time Long Gone and of the merely mentioned shadows that were their husbands. PreFounders, prequel to my Founders St
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Welcome! Welcome my old readers from other fics and welcome those who may have stumbled on this just now! Welcome one and all to the prequel of my Founders fic! Yes, you have heard it right. It is the prequel of a story that tells the tale of the four founders of Hogwarts. Therefore, it is my duty to warn you that while it is not _necessary_ to read _Tale of a Time Long Gone_ first, it would be very much advisable. Continue at your own risk.

And so, without further ado, let the fun begin! **Short chapter**, I know, but keep in mind that this is only the prologue. The other chapters would be much longer than that. This is only about a third of the usual length of my chapters.

Oh, and yes. I have decided to continue my tradition of adding an excerpt from a book at the beginning of each chapter. In this story, it would be from the book written by Rowena's father, mentioned in chapters 5 and 6 of _Tale_.

Enjoy!

**Fall from Grace**

**A Pre-Founders Tale**

**Summary:** Before the Founding Four were even born, a band of men roamed the lands of magic. Their duty was one: protect and uphold the magical realms. This is the story of the lives before the legend. It is the story of the two strongest women who had stood at the background of _Tale of a Time Long Gone_ and of the merely mentioned shadows who were their husbands. It is the story of the parents of the Founders.

While reading _Tale_, have you ever wanted to know why Marcus Gregory was so afraid of Ceridwen? Did you ask yourself who were Gawain Gryffindor and Raven Lord? Did you wish for more concrete reasons to hate Ambrosius?

Everything that was in the background of _Tale_ comes to life here, in _Fall from Grace_.

**Prologue**

_"To Ambrosius,_

_"Someone once told me that every end marks the beginning of something else. As the years passed, I learned to see the truth in those words. Every part of my life that had ended always marked something new for me. The death of my father led to my early start in the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix. The death of a woman loved by many led me to find my own love. There are many examples for that saying being true, but for every rule there is the exception._

_"What kind of beginning marks the end of the Order? Where will we go from here? Where will our world go to now, when there is not longer the Order to protect it from the harms of Dark Magic and Muggles? Will they go to you and to your degenerated Council? Will they come to you for aid and protection?_

_"Myself, I very much doubt that. You have lost their faith, their loyalty. You have condemned yourself and those who follow you. I may have lost my position, but you - if you continue in the same course you have set yourself at, you will lose everything, including your life._

_"Would you take the advice of an old adversary? Will you listen to what I have to say? Again, I find myself doubting the probability of that. You were always stubborn, always too centered on your goals instead of your wellbeing._

_"I send you this book not so I can taunt you. I send it not so that I can remind that I am still out there, out of your reach. No. I send you this for one purpose only. I send it in order to show you what you have put to waste, what you have ruined._

_"I send this to you in order to teach you a lesson in humility._

_"Will you learn that lesson, my lord? Will you listen to my advice, spoken from the distance of years? That is a question I cannot answer. Only you can. I ask Merlin that you would give our people, and yourself, that chance._

_"Raven Lord, the Glen."_

**- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (cover page of only surviving copy); Ryan Ravenclaw**

Early winter hit the Glen hard that year. Its funnel-like natural build usually meant that it remained sheltered and relatively pleasant until the heavy snows of winter's heart had arrived. But that winter was different. The rains arrived early, soaking the dark, heavy ground after the extremely dry summer. Down in Caerwyn Valley the farmers blessed these rains, delighted that they had come to water their parched fields. Up in the Glen, however, the sole, novice cultivator cursed with all his might - out of his wife's hearing, naturally.

Ryan Ravenclaw stood by his poor, flooded vegetable patch, his hands on his hips, and scowled at the stormy sky, not caring about being drenched to the bone, letting out strings of foul words.

It was only his second winter there, the first one being rather mild, and so he was caught by surprise when the rains ruined his carefully trimmed vegetable patch. It was so hard to bring the patch to its current state, too. For a farmer this would not have been a problem, having been growing his own food since childhood, but this young man had never had to grow his own food. Food had never been an issue to him. His business was not farming.

Ryan Ravenclaw's business was war.

For a full decade he had led the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix in their fight to protect the Wizarding World from their prejudiced neighbours, the Muggles, and from internal enemies - Dark Wizards and their minions. He had been good at his job, he knew it. He had the talent and the strength of mind, body and arm. He had the sense of perseverance, putting duty before his own wellbeing. He missed it - the armour, the hefting of the heavy sword, the heat of battle… he wanted nothing more than to get it all back.

Then what was he doing in the Glen, a desolate place which no one would venture into aside of a few shepherds and their flocks? If he had been asked this, he would not have been able to reply. He did not know what he was doing there. He could have chosen any place in the isles. His men, those who had supported him through fire and water, would have all sheltered him and his wife. They would have offered him their homes. They would have hidden them from the searching eyes of the Council of Warlocks. They would have protected them from the death warrant over their heads.

Exile, on the penalty of death. Were those not the words? Join them or be exiled for life. Of course he had chosen exile. And he could not let any of the men he held dear risk their lives for him. It had been his choice, and they would not be the ones to pay the price. That was the reason behind his residence in the Glen. It was the only way to save their lives. He would not put any of them in danger. Never again.

Looking at the misty scenery around him, wistfully giving up on his overly saturated vegetable patch, he could not help but remember the dances in the warm hall of the Gryffindor residence, the friendly banter and pleasant evenings passed idly with his friend, teacher and subordinate, the lord of that wonderful hall, the laughter of women, the schemes that had brought him to where he was now - happily married.

What would he have done had those schemes failed? And more importantly, _where_ would he have been? Had he never met _her_, would he still have been the Lord Commander of the Order? He had no doubt about the reasoning that had led Ambrosius into giving him that ultimatum. It had all been about _her_. It had always been about her.

Ambrosius could never live down the fact that the scrawny, clumsy, orphaned boy had snatched _her_ from his clutches.

_Her…_

Rosalind. Ryan loved her so much. She had been the center of his world ever since that first night he had laid his eyes one her. He could not believe that he had almost lost her. What had they done wrong? They had given up on so many things because it was not _right_. They did everything according to the Lore, knowing that they had to make the sacrifice in order to save the lives of many others. They had done everything in order to make other people safe, sacrificing their hopes and dreams, their reputation and their years together - so why could they not live in peace now that the Lore no longer mattered?

He almost felt ill at thinking that. The Lore no longer mattered. The _Lore_. The thing according to which he had led his entire life was worth nothing now. It no longer mattered. The foundations of his life had been shattered. And after all that, he and Rosalind still could not be happy.

All they wanted was to start a family. They had dreamed of a large family, many sons and daughters to shape in their image, to teach and love. Was it too much to ask after the heavy price they had paid?

Their dreams were now in ashes, their hope broken. There will be no more children, the rural midwife had said. Giving birth to that one tiny girl had almost killed his Rosalind. There will be no more children.

There was so much blood.

Sighing, and silently cursing their bad luck that seemed to follow them ever since they had met on that bleak, cold day almost eight years before, after her childhood friend had been put to earth, he started making his way back to the house he had built with his own two hands, clumsily, but solidly.

Maybe that was why their relationship had suffered so much, he thought. Maybe Seraphine's spirit had seen it as a slight to her memory that they had found happiness because she had lost her life.

But no. Seraphine had been a kind, good woman, who had wished nothing but to make her friends and family happy - he had known her well enough to know that. She would never do such a thing, not even in spirit. Then _why_? Why could they not live in peace?

Sighing yet again, he reached the door and prepared himself to go in, plastering a bright smile on his face, and desperately trying to think up a convincing lie about the state of their vegetable garden. He could not bear see the broken look in her eyes again.

"How are you feeling, love?" he asked as he opened the door, carefully wiping his feet and removing his boots before entering.

"Ill," Rosalind replied without much humour in her dry voice, her normally lively eyes tired and sunken. She was holding the little bundle that was their little girl, Rowena, to her breast, nursing the tiny child.

"Still in pain?" he asked gently, masking his sorrow as best he could. They never expected it to be so hard to bring a child into the world, not to speak of deadly. They imagined it being the best moment of their lives. They thought that it would mark the beginning of a new, better era for both of them.

"A little," she admitted bravely, though he knew that this time she was not precisely telling him the truth. Often since their little one was born he woke up in the night to hear her whimper or even cry out in pain. Madam Hufflepuff, the nearby village's midwife who had helped her said it would lessen in time, but it had been almost a month since.

"Just a little?" he asked, his voice worried even though he had attempted to mask that feeling.

She nodded. "But it is passing. Really, Ryan!" she added, apparently catching his torn expression and disbelief. "I will be fine."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Rosa," he said softly, touching her cheek, pain in his voice. He had almost lost her that night a month ago. He had been so afraid that she would not come out of the birth chamber alive.

"I'm not," she startled him, her voice firm. "I'm glad I went through with it, Ryan. Admittedly, it was not fun, but at least we have Rowena to show for it, and I could not imagine a better girl than her."

And it was true. Born three weeks before the appointed time, Rowena was a tiny thing. When he had first held her in his arms, Ryan thought she was more like a child's plaything than a real baby. Even though Madam Hufflepuff, through years of experience, had told them that the chances of the little one surviving were very slim, Rowena seemed determined to live and was as healthy as she possibly could have been. She was not a fussy baby, only rarely crying in the middle of the night. Rosalind was right. She was the best girl they could have asked for.

"Well, then," he said. "If you have no regrets, then I do not have them either. Your happiness is my happiness, love. You know that."

"Did you ever doubt that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

For a while they were silent, Ryan stirring up the fire and Rosalind nursing Rowena. They did not need words. They were simply content being in each other's company. They had learned to treasure that company after years of secrecy.

"A letter had arrived for you this morning while you were out," Rosalind suddenly said as she was buttoning up her front a little while later. The tone of her voice was wary, as though she was not sure if the unexpected arrival was a good thing or a bad one.

"A letter?" he asked in surprise. "Who would send _me_ a letter? I've been exiled, have I not?" If someone had sent him a letter, then it meant that someone had discovered his whereabouts, and if that was the case… they were no longer safe there. He did not want to move again, but he would not risk the lives of his wife and daughter.

"You exiled yourself, my love," she said with a soft smile, fondly touching his arm, "and made me very proud. As for the letter…" she shrugged, pulling her shoulders in the age-old gesture that meant she had no idea. "As I was saying, it came this morning via owl. The handwriting is somehow familiar, but the person writing it was very agitated or in pain and the letters are not fully formed. I did not open it. It was clearly addressed to you."

Holding Rowena to her side in one arm, she used her free hand to pick up a fine, sealed parchment that was on the table behind her. The seal was familiar, but he could not be sure where he had seen it before. It was not one of his men's seals, or of anyone of the Council. Frowning, he took the letter from her and without much hesitation, snapped the seal, and then slowly went through the contents.

A moment later the parchment fell from his numbed fingers, a horrified expression on his face. It could not be. Not this. Not now. How could this have happened?

"Ryan?" Rosalind called, startled.

Tears fell down his cheeks, unchecked.

"Ryan?" she repeated softly, getting up and walking towards him, the widely staring Rowena in her arms.

For a while he said nothing, his eyes staring at the empty space before him. Then, his eyes not meeting hers, he croaked "They are dead. Gawain and Searlas. They are dead."

**Well? What did you think? Please tell me!**

**The story will now go twenty years back in time and there will start the real story… are you ready? Next update is in a week's time. See you there!**

**Love to everyone!**

**-Star of the North**


	2. Unacceptably Young

**Disclaimer:** Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** ((sticks head in and immediately ducks in expectation of rotten tomatoes)) I'M SORRY! Really I am. I know this should have been posted two days ago, but I've been so _busy_! Real life is starting to catch up with me as my last week of freedom runs away through my fingers… ((pouts))

Either way, this is the first real chapter of _Fall from Grace_, and I truly hope that you will enjoy it. A few more familiar characters will appear here, and I'm sure all of your would recognize them!

Enjoy!

p.s. any inconsistencies with the earlier chapters of _Tale_ that you may notice are calculation mistakes on my part in _Tale_. At the time I made a little mess with the ages of the parents of the Founders. The ages here are correct.

**Chapter 1 - Unacceptably Young**

_"As I sit down to write the document that will tell the story of the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix from its very start, I find myself wondering as I never have before. Back in the days before the disbanding of the Order, while I was its Lord Commander, I never thought about the meaning behind our duty. It was just that, duty. It was our duty to protect the people of the Wizarding World from enemies within and without. It was our duty to make the Wizarding World a safer place for children to grow in. I never once doubted the truth of it - not even now._

_"Then what am I wondering about? I wonder what our world would do now that there is no longer an Order to protect them. While still in command I never thought about it because I never considered the possibility of the Order no longer existing. What now, however? What will our children do now that they are not protected, now that the Muggles can get to everyone without the Order coming to their help, saving, or in less happy occasions, avenging? Who will fulfill that sacred duty now?_

_"I wonder if I had done the right thing when I had told my men to disband the Order after my collision with Ambrosius and the now half-witted Lord Fenwick. But then I remember what the two had in mind for us, and I know that I had done right. True, many have died, including my dear friend, Gawain Gryffindor, because there was no longer an Order out there, but it is better that the Knights of the Phoenix are free from the Council's burden and can use their own judgment and help our people in a non-official way. Had I agreed to Ambrosius' terms, they would have been subjected to the Council's will, and then no one, not even our families, would have been safe._

_"And still I wonder…"_

**- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (Preface); Ryan Ravenclaw**

_Twenty years before…_

Her laughter teased him through the small patch of woodland she loved so much. It twinkled and jingled between the green-leaved trees, weaving in and out around their stocky trunks, echoing on the rocks dotting the woodland's floor, gliding on the nearby stream. She wanted him to give chase, and she would not make it easier on him, that wench. She never did.

He was not about to oblige her. Not this time.

Standing stock-still, he closed his eyes, held his breath, made sure his hands touched nothing but air, their fingers spread as wide apart as possible, and concentrated on his sense of hearing.

A moment later he let out his breath, let his hands drop and opened his eyes, a mischievous smile on his lips. Gawain Gryffindor was a hunter, and he had just located his prey. She would fall into his trap this time, and he would be damned if he would let her get away again.

Moving on silent feet, his boots sifting noiselessly through the rustling, dry, fallen foliage that could spoil his hunt were he to make one false step. Weaving his way between the trees, he searched for her. And there she was. Standing with her back to him, her dark golden hair falling freely down her back, twigs and leaves stuck in those shiny locks at strange angles. By the silent shaking of her shoulders, he could tell she was fighting to contain her laughter.

Still silent as a shadow, he covered the distance between them, his arms snatching at her waist without warning, encircling her, eliciting a shriek of surprise and perhaps of indignation from her.

"Gawain!" she cried, protesting. "You're cheating! You used your strange Knight Powers on me! You were supposed to chase me, you cheat!"

"My lovely Ceri," he said, still keeping his hold on her with one arm and using the other to move her hair away as he distributed kissed down the side of her neck, "you think that after not seeing you for three months I would waste time _chasing_ you? I'm an impatient youth, as you know, having heard my father say it time and again."

She giggled and snaked her arm back to bring his mouth closer to her exposed flesh. "I just wanted to have some fun, Gawain. Couldn't you have obliged me?"

Gently, and with much reluctance, he disengaged himself from her, and then turned her to face him. "I don't have a long time to be here, Ceridwen. I only have a couple of days at home before I must go back and I _have_ promised to spend some of that time with my parents before they let me go and seek for you."

Ceridwen's beautiful, smiling face darkened, her smile turning into a scowl. She crossed her arms and glowered at him. "Gawain Gryffindor, in case you did not notice, we have started _courting_ two _years_ ago! You have not concluded anything with my father as yet, you are still afraid to the death of my brothers, and to top it all, when you finally come home from your wretched camp, you don't have time for me anymore! You're _eighteen_, Gawain! Live a little before you become a Knight in every fiber of your body!"

"I am afraid it is too late for that, my love," he said softly, his hand touching her pale cheek, then letting a lock of her leaf-strewn hair slid over his knuckles. "I will speak with your father tomorrow, before I leave for camp again."

"Really?" she asked breathlessly, her bad mood disappearing with the brightest smile he had ever seen on her beautiful face. "Promise?"

"Promise," he said with a grin, pulling her back into his arms.

Years later, Ceridwen would ruefully tell her eager, romance-craving ward that she should have known better than thinking that things were ever that easy, but at that moment, both young lovers were in their own little world of bliss, unknowing that soon events would strive to pull them apart.

The happy couple separated on the crossroads outside the woods, exchanging last kisses and embraces. Then, after finally gathering enough courage to let her go, Ceridwen took the left turn to her father's household, and Gawain took the right one to the Gryffindor ancestral home.

He knew something was wrong as soon as the farmers paying tribute to his family bowed to him as he rode past on his horse. Usually they only inclined their heads, stopping their work for a little, some of them waving and calling greetings. This time they all somberly bowed deeply, their eyes following, uncomfortably trained on his back as he proceeded up the trail.

When he arrived home and dismounted, the man in charge of the stables bowed to him without the usual teasing banter that they had always shared since Gawain was a little boy and had no idea how to approach a horse. At that, a dark dread taking hold of his heart, Gawain hurried into the house, noting with a growing sick feeling that the flirty maid curtseyed to him and that the people always filling the house were looking very somber.

"Millard!" he called as he spotted his father's valet. "Where is my father?"

"In his bedchamber, Lord Gryffindor."

And with that one, seemingly natural appellation, Gawain Gryffindor knew that come night, he would be fatherless. Dropping everything, he raced up the stone stairs and to his father's bedchamber, where he had spent many a pleasant evening, playing Chess against the man, or discussing this or that subject.

Swallowing the lump that had steadily climbed up his throat, he knocked on the polished door and then entered without waiting for response.

"Gawain," his mother said softly from the chair by the bed where she was sitting. "You came." Her voice, normally rich and vibrant, shook with unshed tears, her hands clasping the cloth of her skirts so hard that the knuckles were white against the brown velvet.

Not saying a word, he approached the bed. The person lying there could not be his father. He could not believe it to be so. Only that morning he had seen him, loud and boisterous as always, warning Gawain not to do anything rash with Ceridwen, and to come back home in time for dinner.

"After all," his father had said, "while little Ceridwen may have better claim on you, your doting parents would like to see their only son from time to time as well."

That was that morning, before his father had departed the house for his weekly hunting day, shouting in delight for his men to follow before he would have to do all the killing by himself, his lean hounds baying as they ran with the horses. Now however, the man's breathing was heavy and uneven, coughs racked his body, bringing up blood onto his lips and chin, and his once-bright eyes were closed.

Taking his mother's place, Gawain took his father's hand. He could feel the fingers tightening on his own. Looking questioningly at her, he quietly asked "What happened?"

"It was an accident," she whispered, wiping the blood from her husband's lips with her already soaked handkerchief. "There was a hare… it ran across the road in front of his horse, startling the beast. It reared and he fell. Oh, Gawain!" she burst out crying, sinking to the floor beside the bed, her face in her hands, ignoring the blood-soaked kerchief that left red trails on her cheeks. "He fell on his back, hitting a rock and when he tried to get up one of the hunters thought he was a deer and threw his spear at him," she managed, tears choking her voice.

Gawain could barely process the horror of what had occurred. He never thought his father could die, but there he was, fighting a losing battle over his life.

"The healer?" he asked. "Where is the healer?"

"He's away - taking care of someone who had lost his leg to gangrene, my lord," Millard's voice came instead of Lady Gryffindor's. The valet had entered the room and gently helped Gawain's mother to her feet. "We sent for him, but I don't think he will make it on time. I'm sorry."

"It is all right, Millard," Gawain said softly, turning his eyes back to the prone form of his father. "You have done all you could. Please take my mother away. I do not think she will be able to stay here for much longer. I think that some calming draught should help her sleep for a while."

"Yes, my lord," the valet said, slowly leading the broken woman away.

Left alone with his harshly-breathing father, Gawain sighed. "Is this goodbye, father?" he asked quietly, not really expecting the answer that never came. "I thought we were going to spend a while together now that the Sir Rhys said I could do with a short break. I really missed you, you know? I know you were never happy with my wish to become a Knight, and I know that you were trying to nurture me into your heir at the Council, but truly I… I thought we had so much longer with each other. I thought… I thought there would be time to… to do what's right…" his voice faded. He could see that his father's breathing was becoming more and more laboured, that his deathly pale face was losing what little colour it still had.

Closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, he was startled to feel those blunt, coarse fingers squeezing his with a force reminiscent of that which he had before - just that morning, in fact. Opening his eyes, Gawain looked straight into the familiar pair of pain-clouded blue eyes. Through the blood staining his lips and chin, through the pastiness of coming death, his father managed to smile.

"Marry your girl, Gawain," Lord Gryffindor said softly, his voice neither shaking nor wavering as he spoke. "Give life to an heir, do your duties. Be happy." And with that he gave his son one last squeeze before letting go.

Several minutes later the new Lord Gryffindor closed the door of the death chamber behind him and leaned his back on it, not allowing tears escape his tight control. It was not time to break down nor was it time to grieve.

There was work to be done.

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A week after his father's death, Gawain was still feeling numb. He had not cried once. His mother did not leave her room ever since they had put him to earth. She had not stopped crying for the first three days, and only at Gawain's insistent coaxing had eaten anything. Now, as he entered the room daily to check on her, all she did was sit almost motionlessly by the window and stare into the distance. He understood her pain, and he was very jealous of her ability to grieve and to let that grief run its course. He could not do it. Not yet, not for a while.

"Mother?" he softly called as he entered her room for his daily visit.

She did not reply, but the subtle shift of her body told him she was listening.

"Mother, I am leaving today. I need to address the Council and take Father's seat there. The Lord Commander and Sir Rhys both said that my duties as a Knight are on hold until I get everything sorted out." She did not say a thing, and he took it as a sign to continue. "It means that I would be gone for a while, Mother. I may not be back for well over a year. There are many things that need taking care of, both in the Council and in the Order. Would you be all right by yourself?"

Still no reply. It unnerved him to see his mother that way. She had always been a cheerful lady with a sharp sense of humour and a lot of goodwill. He was not accustomed to see her so silent and unresponsive.

"Millard would remain here, as well as all the maids," he tried again tentatively. "I don't really need anyone to take care of my needs. I am adapted at taking care of myself, what with being a Knight and all. Millard knows how to contact me, so if there's anything you would need me for…" he trailed off, knowing that there was no point. She would not say anything. For the first time since he had become a Knight, his mother would not smilingly bid him goodbye. She would not wave him off as he rode away on his horse.

Sighing, he shook his head. "That is all, Mother. I love you; you do know that, don't you?" Then he walked to her, planted a kiss on top her head and strode out. His work had only begun.

He had spent the past week going through his father's papers with Millard's help. He needed to quickly learn how the Gryffindor lands were handled, and while his father's valet was well adapted in the art of governing the lands, having worked with the older man for years, Gawain had a vague sense of knowledge that he had to do at least some of the work himself.

When he was younger he kept disappearing whenever his father even _mentioned_ the matters of their estates and lands. It did not interest him, and as he had told his father on his deathbed, he had always assumed that there would be time enough to learn everything that he would need in order to take over the title of Lord Gryffindor one day.

Now he had less than two weeks to grasp that knowledge. By Council Law, he had to present himself to the Council three weeks from the time of his father's death in order to claim his seat and duties as a member of the Council, or forfeit that seat entirely. He needed to have the approval of at least two other members in order to take his hereditary seat as a First House Lord. The Gryffindor line had been in the First House from the very start of the Council, and he was not about to change that. He would not be the one to lose that inheritance.

As he set course for the stables, he felt a sharp pang of guilt at not telling Ceridwen that he was going, or what was going on. The last he had seen her was when they put his father to the ground. She had come with her parents and brothers to pay their respects to their old neighbour and friend. She had given him a sad smile then and a reassuring squeeze of his hand as she went past him to offer his mother her condolences. They had not spoken.

He loved Ceridwen. He truly did, and he had definitely had every intention of going to her father the day after they met and make sure he knew that they wanted to wed, but right now… despite his father's last words, despite the fact that his heart told him he was being a fool and his mind screamed at him to reconsider, he could not go there. Not for a while still. He had duties to perform. There was no question about it. There were more important things at stake.

Ceridwen would have to wait, as would he. Sometimes you needed to sacrifice your own happiness on the altar of duty. This was one of those times.

Hardening his treacherous heart, he entered the stables.

Half an hour later he was gone, only the marks of his horse's hooves in the muddy trail leading through the Gryffindor lands mute testimony that he had been there.

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"He is unacceptably young, my lord!" one of the Second House lords said vehemently, his flashing eyes fixed on Gawain. He did not recognize the man. "He is a _boy_. What does a mere _boy_ know of the matters of governing the magic community?"

Gawain, standing on the cold floor of the Chamber of the Council at Stonehenge before the entire Council of Warlocks, just stared at the ground, not caring. He knew most of the Second House lords did not want him to take his father's place in the First House, longing to be elevated to that position instead, but he was far from caring. He wanted nothing more than for his burly, cheerful father to come back to life, taking his rightful place in the Council, tease him about his behaviour, or even scold him.

He had considered it all through his long journey to Stonehenge and had come to the frightening conclusion: while his trip there was decided on rather impulsively, he was a fool for doing so. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea what would happen once he arrived at Stonehenge. He had no idea what to do.

Gawain was no Council Lord. He was a Knight. Politics never interested him growing up. He had a feeling that all the men now watching him knew that very well, and that the Gryffindor line will lose their place in the Council forever - and all because of him. He could not let that happen - he vowed to himself not to let it happen, and yet… what could he possibly do? Then a quiet voice alarmed him out of his brooding, taking everyone in the chamber by surprise.

"What did _you_ know of the matters of governing when _you_ took your father's place, Ardghal?" the man asked.

Looking up, Gawain saw that the man standing was the tall, dark-haired Searlas Slytherin. Gawain had met him occasionally growing up. He lived not too far off from him, his father's lands bordering those of the Gryffindors. A few years older than him, they often played together as children. But then Gawain became a squire with the Knights, and their casual friendship was ended. Searlas' father was still alive, but his madness forced Searlas into taking his seat at the Council almost two years before. Right now, his silvery-grey eyes were trained on Lord Ardghal, his quiet voice penetrating the silence.

"You may have been a decade older than Lord Gryffindor, but you knew little more. This is the seat of his fathers, and by all laws he is of age and qualified to sit in this Council. Don't you agree with me, my lords?"

At this point, Searlas did not look at the men sitting on the two lower semicircles of stone, but at the four men sitting with him at the top level. The First House Lords all nodded solemnly, though Gawain, his interest now piqued, noticed that one of them, a large, tall man who looked both regal and impressive, did so only half-heartedly, the gleam in his eyes disdainful.

"Therefore," Searlas continued, his eyes now narrowed and staring directly at the large man Gawain had seen, "I say that we accept this man's right to his seat here at the Council. I say he should receive all the duties and privileges that come with this seat, and I daresay that he shall fulfill said duties as required. Who will second me?"

For a while no one had said anything. The First House Lords were the only one who could call for this decision and they were the only ones who could second it. Had the Gryffindor line been of the Second House or the Lower House, those Houses would have had a say in it as well, but as it were, only a First House lord could second Searlas' call.

His eyes moving from one face to another, Gawain could see the hesitation and uncertainty shining through their eyes. Not one of them wanted to deny him his right (except, perhaps, to that tall, foreboding man whom he did not recognize), knowing that it would create a dangerous precedence that may take away their own seats from their lines one day. However, they were fully aware of their duties for the magic community, and none of them was certain if it would be a good idea to have a mere child in their midst.

Finally, when Gawain thought that all was lost and that he was the one to bring his family down, one man raised his hand, making the entire Council gasp. It did not take him long to realize why they were so surprised. He had only seen Lord Fenwick once in his life. It was when he had been very young, and the proud man had come to pay his respects to Gawain's father. It was immediately after Lord Fenwick had taken the position of Chief Warlock.

It was unheard of, that the Chief Warlock would second a motion. He was supposed to be impartial, taking the role of leader and arbitrator, not taking sides in the Council. This was an unheard of precedence, and Gawain found himself wondering what exactly it would mean in the coming future.

"My lord…?" the tall man asked apprehensively, obviously more surprised than the rest. "It is-"

"Unprecedented. Yes, I know that, Ambrosius," Lord Fenwick said confidently, putting a name to the face. "It is not the place of a Chief Warlock to do so, but I, apparently unlike you, can see the potential in this young man." Smiling benevolently at Gawain he said "I don't know how many of you have heard of young Gawain, or should I say, _Lord_ Gawain's doings in the past few years, but I have often heard about him, both from his father and from the Lord Commander of the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix, who should be here today, but is tied up elsewhere, protecting our realms.

"Lord Gawain here is in fact one of the most accomplished Knights living today. He is barely eighteen and is already on his way to getting his first command ever-"

Lord Fenwick continued talking, but Gawain's mind only gave it cursory attention, ready to alert him if something important would be said. Instead of doing as he should, listening respectfully to the Chief Warlock, he was dwelling on that one sentence.

Command?_ Already?_ Sir Rhys had said nothing about it when he gave Gawain his leave only three weeks before. Admittedly, there was a strange twinkle in his eyes when he had sent him home for a few days, but nothing that would even lead him to suspect that the Lord Commander already deemed him ready to receive his own command.

And Lord Fenwick knew about it before him!

It was only when he heard the murmur of assent coming from the rest of the Council that he resurfaced. Apparently he had missed the entire speech, for the next thing the Chief Warlock said was "Take your seat in the First House, Lord Gawain. It is yours to have."

Dazed, Gawain barely stopped himself from stumbling up to take the seat of the Gryffindor line up between Searlas and the Chief Warlock himself. He could not believe that it was over that quickly. He did not even know what to say to the Chief Warlock in order to thank him for his intervention.

Lord Fenwick, however, waved off his feeble attempts at expressing his gratitude and only gave him a small smile. "Don't prove me wrong, Gawain," he said quietly. "I have put my honour at stake here. Do your best to make this world a better one for our people."

What Lord Fenwick could not possibly know, was that by saying this, he had given Gawain the courage to make his line proud, the courage to dare and defy backset minds, the courage to stand up for those without a voice, no matter the repercussions.

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"I am very sorry for your loss, Gawain," the Lord Commander said, putting a fatherly hand over Gawain's. "If you would like a while to yourself, I will relieve you of your duties for a few weeks."

"No," Gawain said vehemently, startling the man. "I will not shirk my responsibilities because of a personal tragedy, my lord. I will not ignore the oath I had taken."

As soon as he grew a little more comfortable with his new position as a Lord of the Council, aided by Searlas who turned out to be an endless fountain of necessary knowledge, he made the trip to the main encampment of the Order, seeking out the Lord Commander. There was a lot that needed to be said, now that Gawain had to divide his time between Council and Order, for he would give up neither.

"You must have enough on your shoulders, my dear boy!" the old man said in surprise. "What with the duties thrust upon you now that you are a First House Lord, not to mention the addition of those that come with you becoming a Head of House. Are you absolutely certain?"

Taking a deep breath, Gawain nodded. "It is true that I have a lot hovering over my head but, my lord, without the duties of a Knight, I would no longer know who I am."

The old man smiled at that. "Very well, my boy. Very well. I am very proud to hear you say that." There was a moment of silence, and then he continued, his face sobering. "As I am very much aware, Lord Fenwick had let slip something that was intended to be kept secret. All in all, it had been for a good cause, but I really hoped to make it more ceremonial for you."

Gawain's breath caught in his throat. He had no doubt what his commander was about to say. His command.

"You, Gawain, are one of the best Knights I have come to know in my term as Lord Commander. You have the talent, the intelligence and the skill. Though you are very young indeed, you surpass many of our older, more experienced Knights in many ways, and I am proud of you. Very much so. Therefore, despite the fact that normally command is only received after at least five years of Knighthood and only to the most talented of Knights, I have decided - dear Merlin, boy! Could you get into anymore trouble!"

Gawain, who had stopped breathing by then with the excitement of what the Lord Commander was about to say, whipped around at the sound of a pile of metal objects falling and rolling on the ground outside the tent they were sitting in. It sounded like a thunderstorm, so loud and disturbing.

"Sorry!" a sheepish voice said from outside. It sounded like a very young boy whose voice had not changed yet. "I didn't mean to!"

Turning back to the Lord Commander, Gawain saw him burying his face in his hands and sighing in exasperation. "What was that?" he asked.

"That," the man said ruefully, "was my squire, Gawain. A very, very clumsy boy."

"A squire?"

"I had to do _something_ with him," the old man said mournfully. "I couldn't just let him run around unwatched, and he _has_ to be in the Order."

"Why?"

"Tradition," he said, as though it explained everything. "As I was saying, however, I have decided that it is time to give you command, Gawain, young as you are. If you are ready to resume your duties without taking time to recuperate, then in a week's time I want you geared up and ready to go. You will be taking over the Wing Division on the border of Scotland. There were several executions there - a rabid group of Muggles happened to rightly recognize a wizarding family. At least two are dead and they are now conducting a thorough search of the countryside in order to try and flush out more of us. The Wing Division is to stop it at any price. Are you up for it, Gawain? Are you truly up for it? There will be twenty men under your command. Are you ready to take responsibility over their lives?"

Meeting the Lord Commander's eyes without flinching, blinking or looking away, Gawain carefully nodded.

He was ready. Oh, yes, he was ready. He would prove everyone right. The Lord Commander for entrusting this important mission in his hands, the Chief Warlock for putting his faith in his abilities and breaching procedures, creating a precedence that could prove dangerous, Searlas Slytherin for giving him the chance to begin with, his father, whom he would have given everything to have back.

But more than all, he would return victorious, with the laurels of the victor on his brow, and Ceridwen's father would have nothing to complain about. He would return for his love, and they would be happy forever after.

**My, oh my, but they _do_ talk a lot about duty, don't they? But I promise it won't be all like that… What will happen now do you think? Who will we meet next? Why, Rosalind and Seraphine, of course! Stay tuned for the next chapter (promise it would be up on Tuesday, really I do!).**

**Hugs and kisses to all!**

**-Star of the North**


	3. Little Angels

**Disclaimer:** Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Well, I updated on time! I realize this may not be my most popular story, but I still don't like disappointing people who wait for me to update - the reason why I was feeling so guilty last week… ;)

Either way, this is the last of my regular updates! From now on updates would change, due to circumstances beyond me. Worry not! I am not abandoning this story - I am just going to update less frequently due to starting a very demanding job. For detailed information, check my bio - I explained it there…

I hope that you will enjoy this chapter! It features The Girls now (at least two of them, anyhoo), and one evil man (can you guess who:D). It is a little short, but those first chapters are bound to be short, since they mostly serve as an introduction to the characters. Hope you like!

Enjoy!

**Chapter 2 - Little Angels**

_"Muggles have always been superstitious. They believe in evil spirits and ghosts that can harm them. They believe that certain animals bring bad luck and that certain symbols mark the Evil One - the Devil. They believe that an old hag waving her cane about is always a witch and that any man with unsavory qualities is always a man-witch - a wizard. They believe magic is evil and that it can only be used to do wrong._

_"As we have witnessed through the ages, superstition leads to hate, hate leads to bigotry, and bigotry leads to extreme measures. Said measures can include everything from prosecution to torture to death. It is the way superstitious people react in order to make themselves feel safe._

_"They feel that if they will burn the old lady with the wart to a cinder she will no longer be able to make their cattle miscarry. They believe that if they will drown the poor man who worked so hard that he missed going to church, he will no longer worship the Evil One._

_"What they do not understand is that this makes them far more evil than those poor souls they have seized, even if they _had_ practiced magic in truth. They refuse to see that magic is just another ability we were born with and that this is the only thing that keeps us apart. Other than that particular ability we are the same as they are - human beings with feelings and lives to live. But they do not see it. They just see the outer shell - the magic which separates us._

_"For that they will kill us without a moment's thought._

_"With that thought in mind, one great man decided that there was nothing else we could do. If we were to protect our lives and our homes, there is only one thing we could do. And so, the Lord Merlin, most renowned of wizardkind, that even Muggles appreciate, had made his decision. The Order of the Knights of the Phoenix had to be founded…"_

**- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (Beginnings); Ryan Ravenclaw**

"Rosa! Rosa!" a small girl cried enthusiastically as she hurtled down a staircase, her long black hair flowing wild behind her. "Ros-!" she started again, but never got to finish the word since upon reaching the bottom of the stairs her leg snagged on something invisible and she was sent tumbling to the ground.

Leaning on her hand in order to support herself as she got up, the girl's face showed for a moment an expression of pure shock at suddenly being on the ground - before scrunching said face up and starting to cry as was the wont of any seven-year-old who had just decided that the interesting thing that just happened to them was actually rather painful and warranted pity from any adult in the vicinity.

Instead of an adult, the person who came to the girl's aid was a not much older girl with her black hair tidily plaited, not a hair out of place. She was sitting next to a roaring fireplace, carefully adding stitches to her needlework, when the little girl hit the ground. Upon noticing the little girl bawling her eyes out at the bottom of the staircase, she put her work aside and with a long-suffering sigh got up and went to help.

"Didn't you tell your mother that your shoes are too big yet?" she asked patiently as she helped the little girl up and promptly handed her a handkerchief.

A shake of the head and a sniffle was the only answer she got.

"Do you want _me_ to tell her that?" she pressed forward.

An eager nod.

Shaking her head with a slight smile, Rosalind Fitzpatrick pulled her friend to the fire. "What was it you were so excited about?" she asked. She did not speak like the normal nine-year-old and acted older than her age. She was too serious, people told her parents, but nothing they said really mattered. Rosalind was not about to behave like a little girl just because she _was_ one. The only times she really acted her age, and willingly at that, was when she spent time with her best of friends, Seraphine Fenwick, who was two years younger than her, but able to keep up with her no matter what she did.

The two girls were inseparable since the moment they were introduced to one another, some five years before. Some people mistook them for sisters, since both had a fair complexion and dark hair. However, while Seraphine had dark eyes that were the thing most people noticed first about her, Rosalind's eyes were a warm hazel that at a certain light looked practically golden.

Seraphine was the daughter of a very important man. Her father was the Chief Warlock of the Council of Warlock, which meant that he was the most important man in the British magic community, making all the vital decisions that decided the fate of their people. At that point of life, the girls did not really realize what exactly it was that a Chief Warlock did and just _how_ vital those decisions were and how hard they were on Seraphine's father, Lord Fenwick. They just vaguely knew that everyone without any exception deferred to the tall, dark man and that they revered him beyond anyone else.

As for Rosalind, her family, though not central or very much important in the magical community, was still very much respected. Her line was reputed to produce many strong wizards and the occasional powerful witch. The Fitzpatricks did not wish to meddle in the politics of the community, preferring to dedicate their efforts to research of magic or help those that needed aiding.

At the mention of the reason for her excitement, Seraphine brightened considerably. Her tears dried on her cheeks and she grinned. "Guess who comes back today? I dare you - you will _never_ guess!" she said, practically bouncing.

Rosalind frowned. Who could 'come back' to York? It had to be someone that Seraphine very much liked, since she was very much excited, and it also had to be someone that her friend thought she would find interesting, or at least be happy that they had returned. How many people did the girls know that could come back and elicit such a response from the other girl?

A smile spread on her lips as understanding washed over her. She turned to Seraphine. "Is it Ambrosius?" she asked, barely containing her own excitement.

Seraphine pouted. "You're no fun," she said, crossing her arms petulantly. "You weren't supposed to know."

"So it _is_ him?" Rosalind demanded.

"Yes, yes. It's Ambrosius." After a moment her friend's expression brightened again. "Can you believe this? I can barely remember how he looks - but it's so great that he's back! He's very fun!"

Rosalind could not argue. Ambrosius was some fifteen years older than her, but was still her friend. He had watched over her as a child, inventing games for her, singing with her and reading her stories. He also taught her a few magic tricks that she found very entertaining and that made her parents stare at her in shock when she showed those tricks to them. He always smiled at her and always had time for her, unlike most of the grown up people she knew.

Ambrosius kept watching over her until she was six. Then, however, his father died from old age, and his older brother was rejected by the Council for reasons that were never specified, and he had to go to Stonehenge and take his hereditary seat in the First House. That was three years before. He never once returned to York since then.

"Do you think he still remembers us?" Seraphine asked worriedly. After the girls were introduced to one another, Ambrosius was also charged with watching over Seraphine and had grown to know her as well.

"I hope so," Rosalind said, suddenly frowning. She had not considered it. Ambrosius was now a very important man. He had been gone for three years. Was it at all possible that he no longer remembered the two girls who had attached themselves to him all that time ago? Or no longer cared? Rosalind did not know what would be worse. She really wanted Ambrosius to visit her - he was her friend and she wanted that friendship to continue despite the years that had passed. She did not know if she would be able to bear it if he no longer cared for her.

Changing the subject, she asked "When is he coming, do you know?"

"Next week, Father said. He says that Lady Quirina is ill and that she called for Ambrosius to be with her for a while. Father said he will invite him to join us in our evening meal after he made his visit to his mother."

"That would be lovely!" Rosalind cried. "I wonder if he will come and visit my parents as well… they really like him - he's like another son to them, I think. I don't think Raymond likes him much, though."

Raymond, Rosalind's oldest brother, was about Ambrosius' age yet never seemed to get along with the other young man. Rosalind always wondered why. Ambrosius was such a nice, caring person, really.

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York never changed. It was always its gloomy self, with drenched streets and a foul weather. The Muggles kept changing its name for some obscure reason, every time someone else conquered the place, but for the magic community of the city it was always York - ever since a Seer had said that it would forever be known by that name in the future. Currently the Muggles residing there, oblivious of the extensive magic community prospering there, called it Jorvik. It was close enough to York, and therefore the wizards and witches, whenever venturing into the Muggle parts of town, did not have much trouble pronouncing the Muggle name.

At that point of history, the city was a major river port, its docks bustling with noises and colours. There were many people living there now and it was just amazing that none of them stumbled over the magic people who were their neighbours.

Ambrosius of York walked among the crowds, letting the sounds of the fish market and the street vendors wash over him and tell him that he was really back. He had been gone for three years, busy with the duties of a Council member, and a First House member at that. Those were very hard three years on the young man and demanded him to sacrifice a lot. He sometimes wondered if it was really worth it.

His big, simple cloak covered his fine clothes completely, not allowing any pickpockets pin him down as a rich, powerful man. He walked briskly and with purpose as he wove through the crowds and nearer his destination. Inside his cloak, his hand was clenched around his wand. These were troubled times - Muggles seizing people suspected to be magic without hesitation. It did not do to be not careful.

The magic quarter of town was at the very north of it, near the walls, and was sheltered from Muggle eyes by layers on layers of Muggle repelling charms and any other spell that had been piled over its borders throughout the years. It was very ancient. Its earliest buildings had foundations from the days when it had only been a Roman fortress.

Walking into the slightly quieter, crooked and narrow alleyways of the magic quarter, he sighed in relief. He was home. Around him people wearing a colourful mixture of Muggle clothes and wizarding robes walked about their business. A wart-covered old witch offered him to buy a flying carpet from her dingy little store. A tall man of Anglo-Saxon origins showed him a display of enchanted jewelry, saying they were the finest this far north in a heavy, indecipherable accent. A small boy with a tray full of freshly baked pastries advertised his wares in a big voice that did not sit well with his size. People laughed and shouted, caught up with friends and discussed the day's most pressing issues. It was good to be home.

Smiling and shaking his head to each vendor that tried to catch his eyes with their merchandise, he continued up the snaking street. Here he would not be out of place with his clothes, and therefore he removed his simple cloak, revealing the deep red, black-embroidered robes. It was so good not to hide his true self.

Finally, he arrived at his destination. A large, wall-surrounded house which had a slightly neglected look to it loomed in front of him. He sighed a little at this. Without him around, his mother did not think of hiring someone to do the maintenance of the house for her. Not since his brother died the year before, anyway, by the look of the grubby walls and the seedy-looking garden.

Determined, he walked through the rusty gates and up the path leading to the front door. The wood of the door was chipped and weathered. The house had seen better days. Once he was within the walls, the noise of the street outside became a mere distant murmur and he finally allowed himself to relax.

His mother was apparently next to the upper floor's window, for a moment later the front door opened to reveal her thin, wasted figure. Her smile was still beautiful, despite her age and illness.

"Ambrosius," she greeted as he neared her. "So good of you to come."

"I would not have ignored your summons for the world, Mother," he said with a smile to match hers. "We should go in. It is chilly."

"Pah! Nonsense!" she dismissed his warning. "It is _always_ chilly here. I am already immune to it after years of living in this damp ruin." Though the words were mocking, there was a definite fond note in her voice as she spoke of the house.

"You may be immune," he said consolingly, "but I've been away from here for three years and lost all resistance I may have had. Shall we go inside?"

"If you wish it so, dear," she laughed.

It hurt to see his mother this frail, he concluded that evening after she had retired for the night and he sat with his drink in front of the dying fire. She was never healthy, that much was true, but he never saw her quite like that. Coming from the south of England at a young age to marry an older man whom she did not know and did not love, despite her words, his mother never did get used to the colder northern climate. As long as he could remember, Ambrosius' mother had been weak and sickly. It did not help that she was constantly with child on the demands of her husband.

Ambrosius was the youngest of his parents' children. Then there was his oldest brother and between them seven sisters. He knew that there had been many other children, but a few were stillborn and many were lost while still in the womb. His mother never fully recovered after the last one died. It was almost a blessing when his father died, knowing that no one would hurt his mother anymore.

Five of his sisters and his brother took after their father in their behaviour towards their mother, seeing her as a mere convenience and practically a slave to their needs. His eldest sister, however, and the youngest one, as well as himself, were always attached to their mother more than to their father. They were the least liked among the family. His eldest sister was now married with children somewhere in Wales, and the youngest died five years before from an illness that was never fully understood. His others sisters were married elsewhere and did not care for their mother in her illness. His brother was dead.

It was a broken family, he surmised as he brooded. A once proud line which managed to hold its place in the Council without trouble. The rejection of his brother from the Council proved that there was something amiss with their House, something weakened and not quite as it should be. When he came to Stonehenge three years before he was sure he would be rejected as well, but when he had been accepted as one of the First House, he had vowed to change it all.

His House would once again be its strong self. He swore to elevate himself and through him, his line, to the highest honour possible.

He would one day succeed Lord Fenwick as Chief Warlock.

He was ambitious enough and knew how politics worked. He would conquer that seat if needed, but he would manage it - and no one would stop him.

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The next day, after spending the entire morning with his mother, Ambrosius went to the other side of the magic quarter and to the house of a family which had always been hospitable to him. The Fitzpatricks were good people, and despite their eldest's dislike for him, he promised himself to visit them when he was in York. He wanted to see how Rosalind was doing, anyway.

Little Rosalind Fitzpatrick whom he had known since she was born was very dear to him. He had watched over her often in her first six years of life and cared for her very much. He wanted to know if she had changed at all in his three years of absence.

He knocked on the front door, waiting to be admitted inside.

The door was opened by Raymond Fitzpatrick, said eldest child who was about Ambrosius' age. The family never believed in hiring help. They cooked and cleaned themselves, as well as answered the door. Ambrosius found that somewhat demeaning.

"Lord Ambrosius," Raymond said politely, his eyes cold. "I did not know you have returned."

"Only for a short visit," he said, allowing his disdain show in his voice. Even if Raymond was willing to let the disagreements of the past be gone, Ambrosius was not such a man. He nursed his hurt carefully and tended to it. He will never forgive Raymond and he would get back at him if at all possible. He would allow no one to slight him. "I came to pay my respects to your parents."

"They are working," the young man said shortly, "but if you will wait in the kitchen I will call for them - it is the warmest room today."

Nodding, Ambrosius swept past him and made his way to where he knew the kitchen was. Waiting there, he wondered if Rosalind was around. She was a sweet girl, but too serious for her age. She most likely would be studying something, he decided.

Soon Master Fitzpatrick was there to greet him with his arms wide open. He always got along with the boy, even though his wife was slightly apprehensive about him and his eldest son openly disliked him. It was not long before Ambrosius was telling the older man everything about his years with the Council and how he managed to gain Lord Fenwick's trust and appreciation.

He was in the middle of describing the Chamber of the Council at Stonehenge (he did not understand Master Fitzpatrick's fascination with _that_ of all things, but the man was always peculiar) in detail when two chattering girls entered the kitchen, not noticing the two inside, with Raymond on their heels.

Ambrosius did not spare a glance to the younger girl - not that it was intentional. It was just that his eyes seemed not able to move from the older girl. He knew she was only nine, but that did not stop him from evaluating her - the woman she would become. He found himself staring at her quite calculatingly, his mind's eyes transforming her into a sixteen-year-old and then a twenty-year-old and he almost had to fight himself to stop his mouth from watering. Rosalind Fitzpatrick, with her lovely black hair and wide hazel eyes, would be growing into a very beautiful woman.

Before he could say anything, the girls suddenly noticed his presence, and with a very unbecoming shriek, Rosalind threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"Ambrosius!" she cried. "Sera said you were coming - but I didn't know if you would come to visit us." She then gave him a reproachful look. "You _do_ remember me, don't you?"

Chuckling, he ruffled her hair, eliciting an indignant cry from her. "Of _course_ I remember you! You are… are you Seraphine?"

"No!" she yelled in annoyance, making him laugh harder.

"Don't worry, lovely. I know who you are. You are my little Rosa. Who else could you be?"

"You didn't forget me?" she asked timidly.

"I wouldn't be able to even if I tried. How have you been?"

The next hour was spent with the two girls commandeering his attention, telling him of all they had been up to since he had been gone. He did not mind it one bit. As long as he could spend time contemplating Rosalind and making future plans concerning her.

He did not notice Raymond noticing his stares at the girl.

When he turned to leave after bidding his host goodbye and detaching Rosalind and Seraphine from himself, Raymond pulled him to the empty corridor and pinned him to the wall, his hazel eyes, so alike Rosalind's and yet so different, burning in anger.

"I saw you looking at my sister, you lecher," the man hissed, his hands clutching the neck of Ambrosius' robes. "Get near her, and I will kill you myself. I was willing to let things be forgiven and forgotten, but this made me see that it was a mistake. If you ever touch her in any way that is not proper, I will have your hide - make no mistake!" Then he let go.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Ambrosius said coldly. Then, straightening his robes, he left the house and a fuming Raymond behind him.

He was now determined. Rosalind Fitzpatrick would be his, no matter what.

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Lord Fenwick was nervous. The man who ruled the Council of Warlocks with great conviction, justice and care was _very_ nervous. He had faced angry petitioners, haughty lords and enraged peasants, and yet none of those had frightened him like the person he was about to face now.

His wife was standing in front of him, waiting for him to say something.

He had entered their bedchamber, knowing she will be preparing to retire for the night after putting little Seraphine to bed. It was her routine for all the long years they had been married. Make sure the little ones were safely tucked in bed and asleep before she headed to bed herself. He had delayed until now, but realized that he could not postpone this conversation any longer. His conversation with Ambrosius several hours earlier made it clear to him.

He had consulted with him concerning his idea. Ambrosius was completely against it, but that was only to be expected. He after all despised the intended man for some reason of which Fenwick was not quite sure of, as hard as he tried to understand it. Despite Ambrosius disagreeing with him, he was still determined to do it. It would be the best of ideas.

"Well?" Celestine asked, her hands her hips, her patience, coupled with tiredness, running short.

Taking a deep breath and smiling at his her, he said "I have found someone who would be perfect as Sera's husband when the girl grows up. He is a very powerful wizard and very much respected by everyone in the Council. He is determined and stubborn and wealthy enough to make Sera comfortable for the entirety of her life. He is a good man also and I am sure will make her very happy when they marry. He is trustworthy and honourable and-"

"Who is he?" she asked quietly, her dark eyes staring at him penetratingly, unmoving. She was, apparently, not to be deterred from the main issue. That he thought about marrying their daughter off already, despite her young age.

Coughing lightly, he said "Searlas Slytherin. He's a very-"

"He is too old for her," she said in an emotionless voice, though her eyes flared angrily. "If I remember correctly, Lord Slytherin is already well into his third decade."

He had nothing to say concerning that. Searlas was indeed into his third decade, though only at his early twenties. He frowned, however. "There is nothing wrong with marrying her to an older man, dear. It has been done all throughout history, and I am sure Searlas would not mind-"

"Of _course_ he would not mind!" she lost her temper and cried, thumping her hand on the table. "He will be marrying into _our_ family - he will get all the benefits out of this connection, and Seraphine will be stuck with an old and ugly man as her husband!"

"Searlas is not like that," Lord Fenwick said softly, knowing that his wife would regain her composure in a hurry if he played it just right. "He is a very kind, handsome man. He is quiet and respects women. He is not that old, either. It's not like I am suggesting wedding Sera to him now. It would wait for a decade or so, until she is old enough and at a childbearing age."

"So you have already struck the deal," she said bitterly.

"No, I have not. Believe me, Celestine; I would not do such a thing to you or to our daughter. I have not approached Searlas yet. I wanted your approval first. Believe me; I would not have suggested him had I believed him unworthy of Sera. He is the best man for her. I stand by my word."

Celestine remained quiet for a while, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames in front of her. He knew it was hard for her, that she still saw Seraphine as the child she was. He was different. He knew that he will not live forever, and that it was better to already have someone committed to protect his little girl. He allowed her to contemplate his suggestion in silence, opting to stand by the window and watch as the rain continued falling.

"Will he be good to her?" his wife's voice finally said from behind him. "Can you guarantee that he will never hurt her?"

"I can," he said with confidence. "And I will. Searlas is the best of our choices. You agree, then?"

"I do," she said firmly. "But if he ever hurts my little one, I will tear his insides out - First House Lord or not!"

Smiling inside as well as outside, he turned to face her and nodded. "If he ever hurts our little one, I will hunt him down and slit his throat - no matter where I am at the moment - dead or alive."

"Good," she said firmly and then started smiling again.

And the couple sat down to phrase their suggestion to Lord Slytherin.

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Rosalind was lying on her belly on the worn hearthrug in the kitchen of her house with Seraphine on her back beside her. The kitchen was empty aside of the two, but the pleasant aroma of cooking meat dominated the air, mingling with the smell of burning, fragrant wood.

It was the day after Ambrosius left back for Stonehenge, some two weeks after his arrival, and the girls were bored. Suddenly, Seraphine grinned at her friend.

"What?" Rosalind asked curiously, turning her face to fully look at the younger girl.

"I bet you would want to marry Ambrosius when you will be older," she said with a smirk on her face.

"Will not!" Rosalind cried out. "He's my friend! Eww… I mean - _eww_. He's so old, too! How could you even suggest that?"

"Because you were so excited about him and you didn't leave his side since he arrived and until he left," Seraphine said, teasing.

"I would _never_ marry a man the same age as my _brother_," Rosalind huffed. "Nor will I marry someone who is as good _as_ a brother to me."

"Then who _will_ you marry?" There was a curious tone in her friend's voice.

"I'll tell you if you will tell me," she avoided answering.

"All right!" Seraphine said enthusiastically, her small hands clapping as she sat up, grinning down at her friend. "I _will_ tell you! The man I will marry will have wheat-yellow hair and blue eyes like the sky. He will be kind and funny and will love me and only me forever and ever. He will take me on his horse every day and we will eat under the sky-"

"And what if it would rain?"

"-then he will build us shelter and we will watch as the rain falls as we eat! Merlin, Rosa, don't interrupt me!"

"Sorry…"

"And he would bring me flowers every day and we will spend the evenings in front of the fire, and we will talk, and he will be witty and have many interesting tales to tell, about his adventures in the wide world - he would be a great traveler, you know, and will bring me gifts from all over the world - and we would laugh and be together forever after. And he will be handsome, and strong, and powerful, and he will only be happy with me by his side."

"That's it?" Rosalind asked when Seraphine finished, her eyes bright with excitement.

"More or less, yes," the younger girl admitted. "Oh - and we will live in a big, white castle and have many servants to address our every need. Now it's _your_ turn - and don't you dare avoid it again, Rosa - I told you mine!"

"Fine, fine," Rosalind muttered. It was true that at some point she pictured the same husband as her friend and the same future, but lately, as she watched her parents and more frequently, her brother and his intended, it had somehow changed. She smiled dreamily as she told her friend what she saw in her mind's eye. "My husband would be tall and strong. He would have twinkling eyes that would always laugh and soft hair the colour of the dark earth south of town. He will love me and see that I am always happy, but I would allow it only as long as he is happy too.

"We will live in a small house that he would build with his own hands and we will make our home our own. He will be kind and caring and will always be there for me when I need him as I will be there for him. We would never fight and would always know what the other needs. His laughter would light my darkest day and his love would be the most important thing that he could give me.

"He will hold me when I am afraid, and comfort me when I am hurt. We will have a lot to talk about and would never fear sharing our feelings and thoughts with each other. I will be happy…" her voice died. It was the first time she gave words to the vision in her mind, and it left her almost speechless. What would she give to have that little house and that man who would love her…

"That's very pretty," Seraphine said, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm glad that you shared it with me. Aren't you glad?"

With some effort, Rosalind pulled herself out of her self-induced daydream, forcing the images away from her mind with her more normal practicality. She managed to push a smile on her lips and nodded at her friend. "Yes, I am very happy. And I know that this will come true. For both of us."

At that moment in the warm, safe kitchen she was indeed sure of it and certain that there would be no possible way that their futures would change. They would be happy. She just knew it. She had no doubt that their dreams would come true and that they would find love.

Fate, however, does not always act as one would like it to, and as the two girls shared their dreams and hopes with each other that afternoon in the cosy kitchen of the Fitzpatrick household, it was already weaving a very different path for them, one that would take them years to understand.

**So… what did you think? Hmmm? Stay tuned for the next chapter as more loved characters from _Tale_ appear!**

**I can't think of much to say except thank all those who had reviewed! See you on the next update!**

**Hugs and kisses to all!**

**-Star of the North**


	4. The Squire

**Disclaimer:** Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** ((sighs)) Ye Gods, the past couple of weeks had to be of the hardest, most exhausting of my _life_. So yeah, I've always been unhealthily pampered and so my tolerance level is not very high, but - gah! It was tiring, it was painful, it was absolutely _awful_. Not to mention that half the time I was sick.

I'm telling you, someone out there has it in for me! No, really…

Either way, I'm very sorry for the lack of updates, but I _have_ warned you.

So without further ado, this is the promised update, in which more old characters appear.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 3 - The Squire**

_"Knighthood had always been a complicated business in the Muggle world. Their system for receiving that sought-after position is very complex and not many are fortunate enough to go through the whole process and be initiated Knight after all their troubles. Not so in the Wizarding World of the British Isles._

_"The Order of the Knights of the Phoenix is a military body. Its sole purpose is to provide protection for the magic people of the Isles. While being accepted to its ranks demands fortitude and immense loyalty for all the people of magic, be they human or creature, it is not as complicated to become a Knight of the Phoenix._

_"The trail of the Knight is very short, if considered in stages, but each stage may take either a very short time or a very long one - it depends on the type of person to go through the process. Some people can be initiated full Knight a year into their training. Others can take as much as ten years until they receive the title._

_"Upon being accepted as Knight (after having been tested in several fields, including skills with weapons, stamina, determination and more), you begin the first stage of training, which is the trial period, in which one's commanders see if one really has it in him to become a true Knight. The longest trial period ever recorded was of six months. Most hopefuls spend only a month or so in that stage, after which they either leave the Order or continue to the next stage._

_"The second stage is that of the Knight-in-Training. In that stage one learns the rudimentary rules of being a Knight. This is the stage that varies most in times. The longest period ever recorded for a Knight-in-Training was that of twenty years. The man only completed said stage in death. One of the shortest periods of training ever recorded was that of a year, though rumours say that once there was one Knight who was initiated after only eight months. We have no way to verify the truth in that._

_"The last stage is that of a full Knight and lasts the rest of one's life. Even if one left the Order, one is still considered a Knight, unless one left through dishonour._

_"The rarest of stages, only invoked once a century or so, is that of a Squire. In the Muggle world, the Squire is a required stage in becoming a Knight. In the wizarding world it is not so. It is more of a stage of honour, making someone part of the Order before they are old enough to properly join. In the entire history of the Order, there were only four Squires ever recorded…"_

**- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (Of Knighthood); Ryan Ravenclaw**

For the first time in six months Gawain set his eyes on the orderly rows of the Order's main encampment. Feeling like a man dying of thirst coming to an oasis in the middle of a desert, he sighed lustily as he rode into camp, past the ever-vigilant guards and the invisible watchers.

The long months in the north were hard on him - he would be the first to admit it. He was inexperienced in command, and some of the Knights recognized it easily enough, no matter how hard he tried to avoid looking it. Some of them were sympathetic and went out of their way to help him in those trying, first couple of months. Others however… were less so. They were petty, inconsiderate men that were out for his blood, looking for every loophole and every inconsistency in his commands, making use of them to ridicule him and make his life harder.

Once he had established himself enough, he had them all disciplined. They learned to never cross him again.

The Wing Division was a very exhausted one upon his arrival to the Scottish border. They were only twenty fighting men, along with several craftsmen and other helpers, tired and running short of luck and patience. He had to change it, and change it he had. Within two months the Knights of the Wing were motivated once more, invigorated and all quite happy to have a young man not even into his twenties as their commander. He had proved himself to them with his dedication and hard work, not to mention his intolerance for any nonsense.

Now, six months after his hasty decision to take the command no matter what, he felt so much older and capable. They had completely decimated the group of Muggles who were out for wizarding blood, and were once again fit and ready to do battle, no longer weary and defeated. Finding that everyone in his Wing respected him and accepted his word as law made him feel worthy. He even thought that as he rode through the main encampment people he knew since young regarded him differently.

"Gawain!" a booming voice hailed him as he went past the armoury, where newly initiated Knights forged their own weapons, making them part of their bodies and souls, sealing their status as Knights.

"Sir Seamus!" he greeted the burly swordsmith who had used to chastise him for his enthusiasm with the hammer - usually with the back of his hand. "Any new, unmanageable recruits you need me to handle for you?"

Seamus made a derisive sound in the back of his throat, his broad, sweat-covered face showing that he did not mean it in an unaffectionate way. "You'd sooner send 'em for a swim in the lake than discipline 'em, Gawain."

"That was the old me, Seamus," Gawain said, somewhat self-mockingly, knowing that he probably would have before his spell in the north. "I'm a changed man these days."

Seamus' expression softened unexpectedly, making it a gruesome effect with the long scar that made the left side of his mouth drop downwards. "Yes, I heard all about your exploits in the north, my boy. I hear you make a fine commander. I did tell you that, didn't I?"

"Yes," Gawain agreed, remembering all the times the swordsmith had told him that one day he would make a great commander. "You did, didn't you?" Then he sighed. "Those were the good days, were they not?"

"That they were, my boy. That they were… You're needed at the Lord's tent immediately, boy," Seamus said, suddenly changing tones. "All your old haunts've been warned to summon you as soon as you arrive."

"Oh? Is everything all right?"

"Nothing's wrong," the burly man said casually, but there was a certain amount of shiftiness in his eyes as he said that, not quite meeting Gawain's eyes. "I reckon the Lord has a special request to ask of you, is all."

Gawain had expected as much when he received the orders to leave his second-in-command in charge and hurry back south. He had his misgivings about leaving Sir Jowan alone, responsible for the lives of so many men, but the man was reliable, if a little inexperienced, and it was not as though he had any choice in the matter. If the Lord Commander called, one had to obey.

He did not like the tone in which Seamus told him that the Lord Commander may have a special request. While Gawain loved and trusted his commander above anyone else, he knew that such urgent summons could say only one thing. He was not going to like the task the Lord Commander would give him. He had no doubt about that.

Sighing, he nodded his farewell to his old teacher and friend, and turned his horse in the general direction of the center of camp and the Lord Commander's tent.

If on his way to the armoury Gawain thought everyone looked at him with newfound respect, now he deemed that everyone gave him pitying, if not amused looks. There was something going on that was not quite right, and he was starting to dread the duty he knew would soon be dropped upon his shoulders. Suddenly he wished he was back north with his men, chasing murderous Muggles away from wizarding homes.

All too soon he was in front of the large tent that was the home of the Lord Commander of the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix. It was a huge thing, erected atop a high hill, overlooking the entire camp. It was made of simple, stout fabrics, and Gawain knew from experience that inside it was made as comfortable as possible, with rough carpets on the ground to isolate the cold and plain furniture that could be packed up and moved quickly.

Dismounting, he handed the reins to a Knight-in-Training that was waiting outside for him. There were no words exchanged, but Gawain got the impression that the man felt nothing but sympathy for him and that he was sorry that he could not warn him of what was to come. Steeling himself, he made sure his clothes were in the best shape they could be after such a long journey, took a deep breath and entered the tent.

Inside a brazier flared as a gust of wind entered with him to the enclosed space. It was warm inside and the homey interior made Gawain relax somewhat. Next to a small table by the flaming brazier, sat the Lord Commander, his powerful shoulders hunched as he squinted at some paper in front of him, his thinning mane of graying hair pushed back, glowing red in the light of the fire.

The Lord Commander did not look up as Gawain entered without announcing himself, but a small smile quirked his lips and he said "Not your polite self today, Gawain? By now you should have coughed, or made yourself known by some way. Is everything all right?"

"What is it about, my lord?" Gawain asked with a sigh. "I've been through camp to get here, and everyone seems to either pity me or be gleeful, and no one would tell me why it is I have been summoned. I'm very tired and it's been a long journey. Can we please get down to business so I can clean up, rest a little and be myself again?"

The Lord Commander raised his head, and Gawain could see that his eyes twinkled. Something made the head of the Order very much amused, and Gawain knew that not a lot of things could make the old man betray his feelings. The man was about to burst out laughing.

"Very well, my boy," he said, smiling. "It is fair that I will tell you, as it seems the whole Order already knows. I have summoned you for a very important reason, do you know that?"

"I surmised as much, since when you sent me up north you were rather desperate - with all due respect, my lord - and it would have been redundant to call me back unless there was something even more important for me to do down here."

"Very good, Gawain. I knew I did not make a mistake when I chose you for this. Now, I assume you remember the last time you were here?"

"Yes, my lord. It was when you gave me command, right after my father passed away," Gawain said, stifling the pang of pain he felt each time his father was mentioned. It was still hard to believe that _he_ was Lord Gryffindor.

"That is true. And, by chance, do you remember anything about a certain boy I said was my squire?"

"A very clumsy boy, you said," he concurred. "You said you named him squire because of some tradition."

The Lord Commander looked pleased that Gawain remembered. "His name is Ryan Ravenclaw, Gawain," the old man said. "He is a very promising young lad, and I have a great future in store for him."

Surprised, Gawain looked at his commander's face, searching for an answer. "Your heir?"

"If he amounts to my expectations - yes," the old man said, agreeing.

"Then what has this to do with me?"

"Gawain," the man said sternly. "It is a well known fact among the Knights that were you not a Lord of the Council then you would most certainly have received the leadership after me. As it is against the Rules, you cannot head the Order, but you are still one of my best Knights. I am an old man, my boy, and I do not have the agility I once had. I want you to take over Ryan's martial education. He still is my squire, but I delegate his training to you."

Gawain just sat there, not saying a word. He was a commander of his own force, up in the north. He was respected and considered very talented. And there he was, sitting in front of his superior, hearing that he was hauled all the way south to be the trainer of a boy who, according to said superior, was extremely clumsy - so much, in fact, that the Lord Commander himself did not want to train him.

He sighed.

"Where is he?"

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At first sight, Gawain decided that the Lord Commander was laughing at him. He could not believe that this was the future commander of the Order. The young boy called Ryan Ravenclaw, who was standing before him with a smile splitting his thin face from ear to ear, was a gangly child of eleven with scratched knees, a heavily bruised face, skinned arms and knotted, long auburn hair. He was skinny, all knees and elbows, and from the short time he had spent in Gawain's company - very clumsy. It was not difficult to deduce where the bruising had come from after watching the boy's feet tangling in a pile of hunting spears and then falling face-first into a nearby pile of helmets.

The boy seemed to not care at all, however, and just picked himself up, shortly examined his newly skinned knee, and then looked up at Gawain, grinning.

"Sorry 'bout that, Sir Gawain," he said in a not very apologetic tone, his hazel eyes twinkling much in the same way as the Lord Commander's had only minutes before.

"It's Lord Gryffindor, Ryan," a voice interrupted Gawain's reply. "Show respect to a Lord of the Council."

"Rhys!" Gawain said, waving aside Ryan's attempt to apologize again and turning to face the older man to whom he owed so much. "Long time no see! And don't you scare the poor boy. I don't mind him not calling me Lord Gryffindor. It's a cumbersome title and I haven't lugged it along long enough to respond to it. Call me Gawain, Ryan. Drop the Sir. Now go and bring us practice swords. I will meet you on the training field shortly."

Watching the boy stumble away cheerfully, Rhys said "I see the old man _delegated_ Ryan to you."

"Yes," Gawain replied, and, catching the man's amusement, burst. "I knew it! He was making fun of me! I can see it in your face! What is wrong with the boy? Is he so fumble-footed that no one else would train him?"

Rhys laughed. "It is true that no one else would take him, and you can see how clumsy he is for yourself, but it's not because of that, that no one agrees to work with him anymore. A friendly advice, Gawain, since I don't want to see anything happen to you: Don't underestimate him just because he's a clumsy little boy."

Snorting, Gawain waved that warning off and left to meet his young charge, who was dragging two practice swords in the mud.

"I didn't know you were a Lord!" Ryan said excitedly upon seeing him, almost keeling over as he took a wrong step.

"Well, my father died several months ago, and as his only heir, I had little choice but take the title," he replied sadly.

"Oh." Ryan looked ashamed for asking for a while. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. My father died three years ago," he suddenly volunteered, looking strangely proud. "He died in the Southern Lands - the Muggles overpowered them. But since there's always been a Ravenclaw in the Order at every given time, Lord Commander Dugald told my mother he would take me as squire until I am old enough to become a Knight."

"There's always been a Ravenclaw in the Order?" Gawain repeated, curious. He never heard of that before. Of course, three years ago he was not yet a Knight, and so it was not surprising that he had not heard of the boy's father.

Ryan nodded enthusiastically, almost tripping on his own feet yet again. "Always. Ever since the Order was first founded. I can trace my line that far into the past and more," he bragged, grinning widely and promptly stubbing his toe on a loose stone, causing himself to fall face-first into the ground once more.

Sighing, Gawain offered the boy his hand and pulled him back to his feet. It was going to be a _long_ day.

Finally, the two reached the training field. Gawain carefully removed his sword belt and his cloak, folded the fabric and draped it over the perimeter fence, hanging the belt beside it. Thus prepared, he took one of the practice swords from Ryan and walked to the center of the currently empty field.

"Are you ready?" he asked the boy who cheerfully nodded, raising the weapon. "Then show me what you've got."

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"Had fun being embarrassed, Gawain?"

A ruckus of laughter greeted the sweaty, exhausted Gawain as he entered the drinking hall. There were close to thirty Knights there, not to mention many of the artisans whose job was to create all those little things Knights needed in order to live through the day.

"Embarrassed? Why should I be embarrassed?"

"Being defeated by an eleven-year-old would do that to you!"

"He did not defeat me," he said quietly.

This silenced the roaring laughter.

"Though I admit," he said, wearily lowering his beaten body onto a chair, "that had Rhys not warned me not to underestimate him I would most likely _have_ been beaten. I now see why none of you wanted to work with him. He is a devil with a sword."

At first, he thought to only test the boy's abilities. His guard was lax and he honestly thought that all the boy would do would be to hack at him ineffectually a few times with the sword and that he would see little to no skill at all.

That was when Ryan attacked him and made him lose his footing.

He had been sorely surprised.

It turned out that while he was clumsy and completely unstable on his feet on normal occasions, once Ryan Ravenclaw held a weapon in his hands, he transformed entirely. There was some magic in work there, Gawain decided. There was no natural explanation for the transformation that had taken place in front of his very eyes. His new charge was very much dangerous with a sword, almost disarming Gawain several times before he managed to realize what exactly was going on.

While he was still sore with the Lord Commander's decision to throw the education of the boy on him, he found that he had a new sort of respect for the child. While Ryan still needed to hone his skills and develop his style, he certainly had the talent and control needed to be a good Knight. The sheer ferocity of his attacks, as blunt as they were, made Gawain see that.

He knew now that he would take the Lord Commander's orders with his whole heart. He knew that making Ryan a Knight would be the greatest challenge of his life, and he was determined not to fail in it.

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The sound of a pile of metal crashing down somewhere outside his tent was Gawain's wake up call. Hearing it, he sat bolt upright, clutching at his sword in alarm. Sudden noises when none should be heard in a military camp are not a good thing. A moment later, upon realizing what exactly it was he was hearing, he leaned back and groaned, covering his face with one arm, letting go of his sword, counting under his breath.

He just reached three when out came the obligatory "Sorrrrrrrrrry…"

Sighing, thinking it was unfair that on his morning off he had to get up early all the same, he straightened again and rolled off his bed, yawning and stretching. Then, sticking his head through the flap, he yelled "Ryan! Get your scrawny little behind here!"

"Morning, Gawain!" the all-too-cheerful boy came bounding into view, the inevitable, new, darkening shadow of a bruise on his tanned cheek, his long, auburn hair full of dirt from his tumble on the ground.

"Ryan," Gawain said in a low, dangerous voice, "what did I tell you about running?"

"Only when absolutely necessary, and when I am concerned, then never," the boy said brightly, quoting him almost word for word, not at all disturbed by his menacing tone.

"And what did you just do?"

"I… ran?" he asked dubiously, looking at him with the question in his eyes.

"Yes, you did," Gawain nodded the affirmative. "And do you know how _I_ knew this, when I've been soundly asleep as I still should be, this being my morning off?"

"Umm… no?"

"By the force of the sound, Ryan. There is only that much noise one can make when _walking_ into a pile of helmets."

"Oh, that's clever, Gawain!" Ryan said excitedly, making Gawain narrow his eyes. Had it been anyone else saying that, he would have felt slighted and disciplined the offender, but it was virtually impossible to feel so with Ryan's bright smile and enthusiasm turned up to him. Sighing, he let his irritation drop.

"Why are you up at this hour, Ryan?" he asked in defeat. "You're not supposed to be up before sunrise. The Old Man is quite adamant about that, and you know it well."

"I woke up," the boy said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face.

"You woke up," Gawain repeated slowly. "And pray tell, my young friend. What were you about to do when you so unceremoniously woke _me_ up?"

"I don't know," Ryan shrugged, as though it explained everything.

In the short while he grew to know the young boy, Gawain learned that this was a very detailed reply from the small waif, and so he decided to let it go. There was only so much you could do with him when he thought he had given you enough information.

Ryan was a very attentive boy - most of the time. He listened carefully to whatever Gawain had had to say, drinking the knowledge he divested. It did not take long for him to grow on Gawain. It was very much hard to dislike him. He was so enthusiastic and polite, always ready to learn and always cheerful. Little could make him depressed and he never cried, no matter how severe his injuries from constantly falling were.

The only thing about him that exasperated Gawain was his unstoppable clumsiness. Nothing he did could make the boy watch where he was going. It was absolutely fascinating watching him as he walked in a straight line right until the time when a pile of helmets or a medium-sized stone appeared on the horizon. When _that_ happened, the boy would make an unconscious beeline which led him straight to that object, making him stumble right on it. No matter how much he tried, Ryan always managed to find that little fold in the ground, that tiny crevice or that miniscule pebble, which would send him flying and help him acquire a new bruise.

He was a strange boy, sometimes acting his age, sometimes seemingly older than Gawain himself. Whenever someone talked about fights and weapons, his face would sober and he would listen and nothing would take his attention away, and then at times he just could not sit still and would aggravate Gawain or any poor soul that happened to be trying to catch his attention at the moment. He was very active and it was practically painful watching him trying to stay in one place, when his body obviously thought differently.

Through it all, however, Gawain thought he found a new friend. There was something very precious about the little boy, about the trust he seemed to radiate, his smile and even his clumsiness. Despite all his faults, Ryan was a very charming child and Gawain knew without a doubt that one day he would grow up to be an admirable man.

He learned that Ryan's father had been the commander of the Tail Division and that his death had had a very bad influence on Ryan's mother. The woman, though she loved her son dearly, could not stand seeing him, being reminded so much of her lost husband. She started crying every time Ryan was in the room with her and could not bear touch him, which hurt the boy a lot. In the end she begged the Lord Commander to take him away and care for him instead of her.

That had been three years ago. Ryan had not seen his mother since that day. She still lived in the Southern Lands, under the care of her brother and his wife who had no children of their own. Ryan received the occasional letter from her, but aside of that they were completely cut off. Gawain knew that despite the cheery front Ryan put on whenever he talked about his parents, the boy missed them both terribly and was still hurt that his mother apparently did not want him anymore.

Ryan was a very complex person, his tender age notwithstanding.

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About a month into Ryan's training, the boy surprised Gawain with an uncharacteristic question. Ever since the first day they met, when Gawain told him that his father had died several months before, Ryan was careful not to ask anything about Gawain's personal life. The older man found that comforting, that he did not need to expose himself, but after a while he found it downright strange, since Ryan was very inquisitive in every possible subject.

That day however, Ryan's natural curiosity kicked in.

Gawain was alone in the training field, going through the motions of some exercise when Ryan came by, a determined expression on his face. Knowing that when he had that look on his face nothing would deter him, Gawain put his sword back in its scabbard and turned fully to face his charge.

"What is it, Ryan? Do you need anything?" he asked, stretching his arms in order to avoid pained muscles later on.

"I just wanted to ask you something," the boy said, planting himself in front of Gawain.

Gawain simply waited for him to continue, patiently looking down into the serious hazel eyes. He would answer any question the boy had, since his questions always made a lot of sense.

"Why don't you ever go after women?"

All right, so maybe not _all_ of his questions.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why don't you ever go after women?" the boy repeated. "All the other Knights either have wives or they flirt with the women who come to camp, or talk about women or, or, or… so why don't _you_? I never once heard you speak of a woman the way the other Knights do."

Gawain could not see his own face, and therefore did not realize that a painful expression had spread on it. He had tried to push the thought of Ceridwen so far away, trying not to think of her every waking hour of the day. He so much wanted to be with her and knew that he could not. Ryan's question had brought all that pain back to the surface, where he did not want it to be.

"I'm sorry if I angered you," Ryan said in a hurry, having seen his expression. "You don't have to answer, I was just wondering…"

The apology in his tone made Gawain snap back into reality. "I'm not angry, Ryan," he said softly. "I just miss her so much."

"Did she… did she die?"

Ryan was afraid of death in some level of his mind, Gawain knew. Death in his mind was connected to the loss of love and comfort, to being torn away from your family and from everything you held dear, so when he asked if Ceridwen had died, Gawain knew that Ryan did not want his friend and teacher to suffer the same way he did and was afraid that he had brought the pain back.

"No, no," he hurriedly assured him. "She is alive and quite well. No, it's just that… I have not seen her in a long while, and have not been in contact with her either. On the morning my father died I promised her I would talk to her father the next day and ask for her hand in marriage, but then…"

Soon he found himself explaining Ryan the circumstances of his parting with Ceridwen. It did not matter to him at all that he was pouring his heart out to an eleven-year-old, nor did it matter that said boy did not ask to be his confidant. All that mattered was that he was able to talk to a friend, who let him talk and pour his pain out.

At the end of his confession, Ryan did the most surprising thing. He looked Gawain straight in the eyes and said "Why don't you go and ask her father for her hand now? You're not doing anything now except for teaching _me_ how to be a Knight, and I'm sure the Lord Commander can handle me for a couple of weeks or _delegate_ me to some other poor soul."

The fact that Ryan was quite aware of his reputation in the Order did not go unnoticed by Gawain, who smiled in wry amusement. "How long did you know?"

"What? That I'm being passed as a burden between my teachers? All the time," the boy said, grinning. "I don't mind, though. It's their problem - not mine. But that's not the matter now, is it? Why don't you go up north and ask Ceridwen to marry you? I'm sure the Lord would agree to let you go."

Gawain shrugged it off at that point, but later that day, while Ryan was learning the basics of forging swords from a very disgruntled Seamus, he seriously gave his young charge's idea some thought, and come evening, went to have a word with the Lord Commander.

The next morning dawned clear to find him mounting his horse with Ryan merrily waving him off, the strong hand of Sir Rhys on his shoulder, holding him in place.

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Gawain entered the house of Lord Jervis, Ceridwen's father with his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He stopped at home before coming, refreshing himself, visiting with his mother, who was overjoyed to see him after so long, and making himself presentable.

He wore his armour for the occasion, brushed clean and scrubbed, the dents in it smoothed as best they could. His shield was on his arm and his sword in its scabbard by his side. He made sure he looked the part of the Lord Gryffindor in every aspect.

As he entered the house, greeted by one of the household servants, he could feel his excitement rising. Within the hour, he was certain, he would have Lord Jervis' approval and he would be able to once more see his Ceridwen and have her in his arms. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw a gleam of dark golden hair. He did not fight the smile that grew on his lips. Ceridwen knew he was here, and she would certainly know for what reason. He could now make her proud. He could now be the husband she deserved.

The household servant led him down the hall he knew so well and to where a tall man with a long nose awaited for him next to a familiar door. Gawain tried to calm his breath. He knew who was behind that door.

"Gawain Gryffindor, my lord," the tall man, Lord Jervis' manservant announced disdainfully as he opened the door before Gawain, almost as though Gawain was some foul beggar with the smell of ale on his breath and clothes. It was somewhat worrying, knowing that only a few months before he was exchanging jokes and stories with the man.

The beefy Lord Jervis grunted at this and then darkly said "Let him in."

Warily, not liking the man's tone, Gawain entered the study. Usually Ceridwen's father greeted him with a warm "Gawain, my boy!" and a tankard of his finest ale. He would sit him down and talk about anything and everything. That day however, the man surveyed him darkly through narrowed eyes and acknowledged him with a curt "Gryffindor."

Feeling apprehensive, Gawain hovered uncertainly by the door. Coughing to clear his throat and make himself known, he started "Lord Jervis, I-"

"I know what you're here for, Gryffindor, and I think you are well aware of what my answer will be."

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Ceridwen waited impatiently, pacing back and forth in the hall in front of her father's study, feeling more anxious than ever. It should not have taken that long. Gawain should have gone in and gone out in ten minutes, with her father's arm across his shoulders, the gruff man smiling for all he was worth. Instead, he had been gone for over an hour and the sounds she could hear through the closed door were foreboding - menacing, even.

She also did not like the shifty glance her mother had given her when Gawain had entered the house in his armour, hope in his eyes and a smile on his lips. The glance told her that her mother was privy to information that was hidden from her.

Finally, an eternity later, the door to her father's study banged open and she excitedly turned with a wide smile to greet her soon-to-be husband. That smile faded as soon as she saw his thunderous expression. When he saw her, that expression became sad and pained.

"Gawain-" she started, now even more anxious than before, but he only strode to her, for a moment pausing. He started reaching with his hand to her, but halfway it stopped in midair, hovered for a moment and then retracted, dropping to his side. Shaking his head with fathomless sadness, he walked away without a word, his armour clinking as he went. She could still hear him when he picked his shield and sword from the entrance, and then he was gone.

Confused and very much hurt, she determinedly strode to the open door of the study and stepped inside. She would hear what had gone between the two men, no matter what.

"Ah, Ceridwen," her father said vaguely, his eyes only momentarily flickering up to acknowledge her. "I was just about to send Caleb to come and get you. Do take a seat."

Gingerly, she sat on the edge of one of the padded chairs by the roaring fire. For a while her father said nothing, scribbling something with great intent. Finally, he spoke.

"I thought you should know, my dear, that Gawain Gryffindor had come here today to ask for your hand in marriage. I also thought that you should know that I have refused his request."

"_What!_" she screeched, almost jumping out of her seat, not believing her ears and not caring in the least who would hear her indignant shriek.

"Do lower you voice, my dear."

"No!" she cried. "I will _not_ lower my voice, Father! How could you _do_ this to me? You have known for _years_ that Gawain and I are courting!"

"Yes, and now I have brought an end to this foolishness," he said, still not looking at her, his eyes fixed on the parchment in front of him. "I am now writing to Lord Bartholomew. His youngest son is still unmarried as of yet, and I am arranging for the two of you to start courting promptly. He will take you to the Council ball next month and I expect the marriage contract will be signed by spring, with benefits to both parties."

"I- you- how- you can't do that!" she finally managed, her face turning redder and redder as understanding of what her father was doing sank into her mind.

"I can and I will, Ceridwen," he said coldly, his voice not rising but still managing to convey that he would allow only that much disobedience on her part before he would use his power over her to _make_ her obey. "By spring you will be betrothed to Lord Bartholomew's son, by summer you will be wed, and by the next spring I expect you to produce an heir to your husband. This is the way things _will_ happen, daughter, so get the idea of marrying Gryffindor out of your mind. It will never happen. You may go."

He face a thunderstorm, tears gleaming in her eyes, Ceridwen got up and fled the room.

**How many of you guessed that the Lord Commander's squire was Ryan in Chapter 1? ;) I absolutely love that boy. He's so fun to write…**

**So what will we have in the next chapter (hopefully to be posted next week, but no promises!)? Schemes, schemes - oh, and did I mention _schemes_? Seriously, though, next chapter would feature a lot more of Ryan, Gawain, Ceridwen and Searlas. Hope you like and see you then!**

**Hugs and kisses to all!**

**-Star of the North**


	5. Elopement

**Disclaimer:** Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.

**A/N:** lo and behold! The impossible has happened! Star of the North has actually updated _Fall from Grace_ - all hail her for her fantastic recovery from the world of Writer's Block! And it's a _looooooooong_ chapter that she has brought to you!

Heh. Missed me?

This chapter will once again feature Ceridwen and Gawain, and also a little of Ryan and a few other old acquaintances from _Tale_, but I promise that there will be more of Rosalind and Seraphine in chapters to come. I have not forgotten about them!

Enjoy!

**Chapter 4 - Elopement**

_"A delicate issue which concerned the Knights of the Phoenix is that of women. The average Knight lived over three quarters of the year away from home and family, in the company of no one but other Knights and the occasional camp follower which found their company fascinating. However, the higher ranks always frowned upon - at least theoretically - the act of taking said follower to bed._

_"What do we have then? Bluntly said, we have hundreds of passion-starved men who live together in close quarters for long periods of the year in which they are separated from their wives or lovers or both. It is, as a wise man once put into words, a clear mix headed for disaster. More than once Knights were incapacitated during fights over a single camp follower, and not once, to the great shame of the entire Order, was a simple woman in the places the Knights went to was molested in the most inappropriate of ways._

_"We seem to think that the Order was made of nothing but moral men whose primary cause was to protect and guard over the wizarding community, but in truth, like every society in the world, whether magic or Muggle, the Order, too, had its corrupt core._

_"But this is a digression from the subject at hand. The problem of women continued to follow the Order all throughout the years of its existence, starting at the very beginning. Therefore we find that not many of the Knights tied themselves down to a wife until much later in life, when they were more settled and sent to less dangerous assignments. The few exceptions, however, seemed to somehow manage between their two lifestyles, and even managed healthy relationships including children…"_

**- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (Challenges); Ryan Ravenclaw**

Ceridwen made her way down the path angrily. It had been three days since her father had rejected Gawain's proposal and she had seen neither hair nor hide of him since. She even went as far as to sneak to his family's home and climb up to his window in an attempt to speak with him. His mother caught her in the act, however, and gave her the first piece of worthy information she had gotten every since her love had left her home with that sad expression on his face. So now she was following Lady Gryffindor's instructions and tracing the steps of her elusive man.

He would get an earful when she would catch up with him.

However, upon finally catching glimpse of him, all those thoughts left her mind abruptly. He was standing at the top of a bare hill on the eastern border of his lands, his dark, long hair whipping about him in the violent wind coming from the west. There was something wild, feral, in this picture in front of her eyes - something which mirrored her own pain and desperation.

She could still not believe the determination in her father's voice as he had sentenced her to be enslaved to a man she did not know and did not love. She wanted nothing but to curl up in Gawain's arms and discover that it had all been a bad dream, that her father would give his blessing to the couple and that they would live happily ever after.

But as she watched him standing there, his body exposed to the wind, not bothering to push away the strands flying into his face, she knew it was all true, that she had not dreamt it.

"Gawain?"

At first he either did not hear her voice over the wind or chose not to answer. He seemed oblivious to her presence, all his attention focusing on the distant hills that were not within the stretches of his property. Finally, however, he turned to face her, and she could see tears streaming down from his eyes.

"It was never meant to be, was it?" he asked only loudly enough to reach her ears, his face a mask of pain. "We were doomed from the start - he was never going to allow us to be together."

"Don't say that!" she yelled desperately, lifting her skirts high enough to allow her to run to him. "Gawain, you can't give up - not now!"

She tried to get to him, to throw her arms around him and beg for him to return to her home and speak with her father again, plead with him to change his mind. But as she was only a few steps away from him, she felt an invisible wall coming between them, not allowing her to go any further, to touch him, to kiss him.

"Gawain!" she shrieked, pounding on the empty air. "Let me through!"

"No," he said, his eyes deadened. "As we speak your marriage contract is already signed by both your father and Lord Bartholomew. You are promised to another man, and as a Knight I cannot touch the property of someone who is not me. You are off-limits to me, my love. We can never be together."

"Damn your honour, Gawain! How can you reduce me to the level of _property_?" she spat the offensive word. "Does that make it easier on you? Thinking that what you're giving up is not worth the effort? How can you do this to me? To _us_?"

She waited for his reply, but he only turned away, refusing to look at her, as though even that was trespassing on another's possession. She felt tears running down her cheeks to match those previously shed by him. "Very well, Gawain. If you cannot face your fears and stand for your own, there is nothing I can do, now is there? Just remember - I love you, and you - you just closed the lid over our last chance at happiness.

And with that she fled.

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Gawain did not know how he had made it back to camp, or how he managed to shrug the questions of his companions at his deadened expression and empty eyes. He vaguely knew, on some level, that they all realized that Lord Jervis had rejected him as a worthy husband to his daughter and that Gawain did not want to speak of it.

He pushed everyone away during those few weeks back, never speaking to any of his old friends, ignoring the Lord Commander's summons despite it being mutinous, and only giving the most cursory amount of thought to anyone trying to catch his attention. He rarely ate and his sleep was punctured by nightmares, featuring Ceridwen and her last words to him, spoken in that vehement tone.

In only a short while there were dark circles beneath his eyes and he lost significant weight. He was always tired, but was so afraid to sleep that he had taken to walking every time he felt his eyes falter. He became a loner, keeping to himself and only doing his duties because that was what they were - duties. It was possibly the only thing that kept him going.

He could not believe that he would never be able to hold his love again, to touch her soft body or kiss her inviting lips. He hated the man that would be able to do that because Lord Jervis saw him as worthier than Gawain.

He was slowly drowning - in shame and guilt for the way he treated Ceridwen for the possibly last time they had seen each other, calling her property and not allowing her to get near him, in pain and self-misery for losing the only woman he would ever love to another man, and finally, in anger and fury for the unfairness of the world and of Lord Jervis.

He had no reason to live anymore and just wanted to let go and let the stream carry him away - it did not matter to where.

Finally, his behaviour became so extreme that even the devoted Ryan who had stuck by him despite his apathy had had enough. One evening, as they were having their weekly Strategy lesson and Gawain was obviously out of sorts, not bothering too much with listening to what the boy was trying to say, Ryan slammed his fist on the table, his eyes burning.

"Are you regretting your decision to do as the Lord Commander asked?"

His sharp question startled Gawain so much that for the first time in three weeks he actually focused on his charge instead of simply glancing over him. "What?"

"I asked - are you regretting your decision to do as the Lord Commander asked and teach me?"

"Why would I do that?" he asked in befuddlement. "I would never take back that decision."

"Then why are you acting as though I am a burden to you and that our lessons together are nothing but a repulsive duty that you must do and wish to discard as soon as possible?" Ryan's face was dark and angry as Gawain had never seen it before. The young boy was always cheerful and optimistic. No matter what happened - rain or shine, numerous bruises or shouting swordsmasters, Ryan always had a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. This time, however, he was angry - and more than that. He was furious. That expression did not sit well with his normally cheery complexion. This, more than anything, startled him awake after three weeks of not caring about anything.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" he suddenly sounded more exasperated than angry. "You've been so absorbed in your own grief to notice anything around you. Everyone can see it. This business with your lady is eating you from inside and it's ruining you. You have to do _something_ about it."

"And what _can _I do?" Gawain burst, angry that a child that young thought himself more knowledgeable in the love and heartache departments than he and showing real emotion once again, something he vowed to himself would never happen. "Her father would not allow me to marry her. Once he has declared it - I have nothing to do about it. I may have been able to try and persuade him, but he has already made contract with another lord to marry Ceridwen off to his son! There's nothing left for me to do! Nothing - do you hear!"

"You love her, don't you?" Ryan asked unfazed, his hazel eyes serious.

Gawain gave him a look that he thought would convey his answer, but Ryan stubbornly waited for a verbal reply. Finally he gave up. "Yes, Ryan. I do love her very much. I would die for her if she needed me to do so."

"That's very noble of you," Ryan said with an impish cast to his eyes, "but I do believe she would prefer having you intact for the wedding night."

_That little-_

Before Gawain could proceed to strangle his young protégé (though by Ryan's remark he found himself wondering how an eleven-year-old child even knew of such matters), Ryan ran out of reach, nimble as a mouse, and from the safety of distance called "If you love her so much, you great fool, then marry her no matter what her father says! Rules were made to be broken!"

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Though he practically slaved Ryan around for the next week or so for his impudence, Gawain had to admit that the boy's words stuck.

Rules were made to be broken, and if he truly loved Ceridwen as he always claimed, than there was no reason for him not to marry her despite her father's rejection of his offer.

It took him a while to figure it out, but soon a plan was formed, and he knew just the people to aid him with it - as crazy as initially it may sound. He knew it may take him a while to convince the people he had in mind, but he also knew that at least one of them would stick by him no matter what - and that he already had one firm ally in the form of a very clumsy, very impertinent and surprisingly - very acute - boy.

His first step then, would be to go to that one man who would support him without question.

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Sir Rhys was a man who had seen, heard and experienced many strange things in his lifetime, being one of the more veteran Knights in the field, but every now and then came someone and revealed to the Knight that one learned something new every day.

He looked at his younger friend with wide-eyed astonishment. He had known Gawain ever since the lad had joined the Order, still naïve and ignorant of what the world truly entailed for men like him. He knew him as an impulsive yet fantastically sharp person, whose decisions were mostly worthy and correct for the time they were made. This time, however, he simply could not wrap his mind around the idea Gawain was trying to get through to him.

"You want _what_?" he repeated in a weak voice.

"To elope," Gawain explained as though it was that obvious. It was an expression very much reminiscent of the one adopted by Ryan, Gawain's charge whenever he thought his words were self-explanatory, no matter what anyone else thought. The two were spending far too much time in each other's company. "Cerdiwen's father will not allow us to marry, and so we want to elope."

"You mean _you_, Gawain, want to elope," Rhys pointed out. "Did you even ask Ceridwen about this?"

"No, but I know she would come," the young man said with confidence Rhys knew he truly felt. "Will you help us, then?"

Sighing, Rhys nodded. He could never say no to Gawain. The boy had always been just too determined. "Who else is in?"

"Deiniol, Hallsteinn, Gwilym, Reynard - if I can convince him that the Old Man won't punish him - and Ryan, of course."

Of course.

"It was his idea to begin with."

The two were spending far, _far_ too long a time together.

"I know what you're thinking, Rhys."

"And what am I thinking, precisely?"

"You're thinking that because this was Ryan's idea it is reckless and not thought out."

"When did you become a mind reader?" Rhys asked innocently.

"Don't be sarcastic, Rhys. Ryan just gave me the general idea: Rules were made to be broken. If Ceridwen will have me, then I will make her my wife no matter what."

Rhys could hear Ryan saying the same things. It just _sounded_ like something that boy would say, with his permanently innocent expression that hid the mischievous soul within. He truly loved the boy, like many of his fellow Knights, but _really_… It was as though Gawain was retreating into that selfsame age himself.

"So…" he said, striving to make peace. "What is your plan?"

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_"My dearest Ceridwen,_

_"I do realize that our parting was not of the friendliest kind. I had acted like a swine, and I want you to know that I will understand if this letter will find its way to your fireplace, unread. Regardless, I do hope you _will_ read this letter, for her I will outline an idea that may or may not appeal to you. Either way, I will know your decision in the Council ball._

_"First, I want you to know that I love you and have not stopped loving you despite my coldness towards you when last we met. An excellent youth named Ryan had made me see this. You will like him, I think. I will make sure you two meet if ever you accept my proposal._

_"And so, without further ado, I will explain my plan to you:_

_"We are to elope._

_"Yes, I can see you gaping at the letter now, wondering if I had lost my mind, but I assure you that I have not. I only speak from the bottom of my heart and with all the love that I have. I do realize the implications this will have on your relationship with your family and your father in particular, but know that I cannot stand to think that you will marry another. I just cannot have it._

_"Please, my lovely Ceridwen. Please consider this. Please consider me as your husband at the price of disobeying your father. I will give you everything that I have - I will give _up_ everything that I have just to have you in my arms for the rest of our lives._

_"If you agree, then meet me at the Council ball. I shall be waiting by the statue of Merlin in the entrance hall. If you do not arrive by the end of the evening, I shall know your decision is against me. If you will… please do, my love, for I have no life without you._

_"Yours eternally,_

_"Gawain."_

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Ceridwen was waiting in her mother's drawing room for Caleb, her father's manservant, to come and call for her. She was sitting motionless, wearing her finest of house-gowns, her hands frozen in her lap, her eyes staring straight forward. She could have been a statue for all the movement she made, all prettied up for her husband-to-be.

For this was why she was waiting. Lord Leopold, son of Lord Bartholomew, was coming to Lord Jervis' household to look upon the face of his future bride and to escort them all to the Council ball at Stonehenge. Ceridwen was wondering just how much older than herself he was, having never met him before.

The only thing that was keeping her in her place and not running for her life, was the comforting weight in the pocket of her gown of the parchment that had arrived only the night before, bearing Gawain's seal. She still could believe what was written in it, but was immensely relieved that she had not listened to her first impulse and threw it immediately into the fire. Had she done that, she would not have had hope.

"My lady?" Caleb's voice called formally. "Your betrothed has arrived. Your father asks for your presence in the hall."

_Betrothed_… That word was just wrong in context to anyone but Gawain. But Ceridwen knew that she must not betray the plan her love had formed. She will play the little obedient lady, crushed under her father's heel as a dutiful daughter should be. Oh, yes, she will play his game. He would be the one losing in the end.

"Ah! Ceridwen!" her father called the moment she stepped into the hall. "I would like you to meet Lord Leopold. He has been very anxious to meet you, you know!" There was a very heavy undertone in his voice, making sure she knew her place and that she would play along.

He and her mother were standing next to tall man in fine clothing, her mother's hand lightly resting on her father's arm, making a show of being a good wife. This was Ceridwen's cue for obedience.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord," she said through clenched teeth. She was not at _all_ pleased to meet the man who was supposed to replace her beloved Gawain as her husband. True, he was not particularly ugly, nor did his body emit rank stench like some of her father's acquaintances'. Lord Bartholomew's youngest son was a soft-spoken, willowy man in his late twenties, whose manners were impeccable and who made sure his appearance was respectable as well, but he simply was no match to Gawain.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Ceridwen felt guilty at what she was going to do, making Lord Leopold look like a complete fool. He would be just one step away from being a cuckold in their society. But this feeling of guilt was quickly suppressed by her determination to be with Gawain no matter what. No decorum would stop her from achieving that goal. Her father had begun this, and she was about to fight him nail and tooth, no matter the consequences.

"You are lovely just as your father had described," Leopold said as he stooped low to kiss the back of her hand. "I am looking forward to spending the dance with you."

"As am I," she lied blatantly, forcing a smile on frozen features.

He looked amused but said nothing. Maybe he could see the prejudiced dislike in her eyes, or maybe he just saw her as an amusing child, a toy to be played with. Either way, she did not care. He was the tool by which her love was torn away from her and therefore, to her, he was very much despicable.

Dinner that night almost made Ceridwen want to cry. Her mother would speak of nothing but the wedding - what gown Ceridwen should wear, what flowers would decorate the hall of Lord Jervis' house, who would be invited (with a subtle comment as to whom will _not_ be invited) and where the newly-weds would spend their first night together. Her father spoke solely to Lord Leopold, and all he spoke of was the managing of estates and the bride price he was expected to pay to the younger man.

Her brothers were no help either. All three seemed to like the stranger to their home, finding him much more stable and trustworthy than the young man they had known since childhood. She was about to cry in outrage at that, not believing their complete dismissal of Gawain.

All through that evening, she kept concentrating on the single thought, that come next week, no matter what her family thought or said, she would be in Gawain's arms, as his wife, and Lord Leopold would remain unmarried. She knew she was being cold-hearted, but so had been her father only three weeks before when he dismissed Gawain. They all deserved it. And she - she deserved to be happy.

When night came, and she was finally left alone in her room, Ceridwen began planning her escape.

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"What if she won't come?"

Ryan sighed exasperatedly for what seemed like the hundredth time since the finest of Britain's magic community began streaming into Stonehenge. It was just the same amount of times that Gawain had asked that specific question in different variations. Sometimes the young Squire wondered who was the adult in their relationship.

"She _will_ be coming, Gawain," he said with as much patience as he could muster after so many times. "Don't fret. Just because she hasn't run into your arms five minutes into the reception doesn't mean that she's not about to come - _do_ get a grip."

Gawain stared at him for a moment, looking like a lost puppy, before he blinked. "I'm doing it again, am I not?"

"Being a complete idiot? Yes, you are. Now get back to your place. You don't really want this Lord Jervis and Ceridwen's brothers spotting you lurking about. And I'm rather certain that her future husband will not be too happy to see you either - so do your disappearing act already."

"Are you patronizing me?" Gawain asked suspiciously, making Ryan discreetly as possible roll his eyes.

"Of course not. Run along."

While a grumbling Gawain made his way to his shadowy hiding place behind Merlin's statue, Ryan returned to his own post, just beside the grand doors of the entrance hall, spying at the newcomers via the main portal, looking for a young woman matching Ceridwen's description. His orders were to wait until he saw her, and then make his way to the escape route, to make sure the road was clear.

He was a little sorry that he would not be there for Gawain's wedding, but secrecy was first priority here, and as the Lord Commander's Squire he was expected to be by his lord's side throughout the evening. Naturally, he was not by his lord's side at the moment, but Lord Commander Dugald had told him that he may stay with Gawain for as long as he wished. 'As long as he wished' being until Gawain sneaked off with his soon-to-be-wife.

Provided she would come.

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Gawain was on the verge of running back to where Ryan was and confiding his doubts and fears in him, but held himself back. He had the strangest feeling that Ryan, his young ward, was patronizing him. But then again, that was absolutely ridiculous, was it not? It was probably just his overactive imagination, prodded by his anxiousness. Ryan would never do such a thing.

Ryan was a good boy.

One day he wanted to have such a boy of his own, so intelligent and well-mannered.

Though perhaps will fewer bruises.

But for that, of course, he would need Ceridwen.

Ceridwen.

His lovely soon-to-be wife.

_Where _is_ she!_

He was feeling so edgy. He did not realize when first he formed his plan what a nerve-racking experience it would be, standing and waiting for her to either show up or leave him to face the rest of his life alone. Whatever had possessed him to tell her that the answer he was waiting for could wait until she appeared (or did not) behind Merlin's statue? Why did he not just ask her to owl him with her reply? He was a fool - that is what he was.

Leaning on the statue of Merlin in the shadows it created in its corner, Gawain watched as the lords and ladies of magic Britain strode past, making their way in their fancy clothes into the ball chamber just off the entrance hall. He recognized many of them, both as his father's acquaintances from the time before the man died and from his own experience as a Knight and Lord. He tried distracting himself by imagining what they were saying, what was the newest gossip, but soon it failed him. Time was agonizingly slowly passing, and still there was no Ceridwen in sight.

Just on the verge of starting to bite his fingernails, some two hours into the reception preceding the ball, a low whistle caught his attention. Over the noise of the still coming dignitaries, he at first thought he was imagining things after his long wait. Then, however, it was followed by another. No one else seemed to hear it, which was just Ryan's talent. The boy was invisible and silent as a mouse when he wanted to be.

His heart pounding wildly in his chest, Gawain barely allowed himself to breathe. Two whistles. Ceridwen has arrived.

Now watching intently through the gap between the statue and the wall, Gawain felt his breath leaving his throat in a rattling sound. Were _was_ she?

And then, walking gracefully towards the ball chamber, on a tall man's arm, she passed his hiding place, not even glancing his way. She was wearing her most beautiful gown - dark blue with a gold trim, that he always thought brought out her figure in the best possible way. And she was smiling at something the tall man had said. She was _smiling_. Gawain thought he could hear his heart break.

With the light dying in his eyes, he slumped down the statue's stand, until he was sitting on the floor with his back to the entrance hall, his eyes staring blankly at the marble wall in front of him.

He could not believe it. It was over.

It was all over.

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Ceridwen gave another fake smile at Lord Leopold's redundant story. She even managed to let out a small, lilting laugh. Had Gawain been there beside her, he would have been able to hear that there was nothing behind it. Leopold, however, was not learned in the ways of the young woman who was being forced into marrying him, and therefore could not tell that she was only pretending to enjoy his company.

The man, she realized as soon as they were left alone to their own devices, was as dull as they came. He was polite and charming, but he held no interest for her. He was the most boring person she had ever had the misfortune to meet. And _this_ was the man she was expected to spend the rest of her life with?

Not bloody likely.

They had been late in coming to the ball because her lazy brothers left getting ready to the last possible moment. She was scared that Gawain may have given up hope and left already. Knowing she had to speed up her plans, she started looking for an opening - something that would allow her to leave Leopold for a few moments, something that will make him stay away and not come with her. It had to be repelling enough to make him forget his chivalry and follow her no matter what for the sake of her dignity. After all, it would not do for a betrothed young woman to wander alone in the dark halls of Stonehenge.

"Oh, my," she let out in a small squeak.

"What is it?" Leopold asked concernedly.

"I think that…Oh, my, but this isn't a proper thing to talk about with a man," she said, wincing.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, noting that wince.

"I… ow!" she doubled over, as though in pain.

"Should I take you outside?"

"No! I mean… it's… women's business… I'm sorry. It isn't really proper…" she let out in small gasps, hugging her abdomen. "I… please excuse me, Lord Leopold."

Assuring herself that the man was bright enough to realize what she was trying to convey, she fled the scene, still hugging her lower body. Sparing a glance behind her shoulder, she found herself smirking, seeing the mildly nauseated expression on the man's face. Congratulating herself on her acting abilities, Ceridwen straightened once out of view and made her way to the entrance hall.

The hall was empty as she stepped inside, and only dimly lit now that everyone was inside the ball chamber. Her heart beating loudly, she made her way to the grand statue of Merlin at the far corner of the hall. She prayed that he would still be there, that he had not given up on her.

Then she saw him, slumped as though in defeat, behind the statue, staring emptily at the wall.

"Gawain?" she called softly.

Though she truly thought she had spoken quietly, he jumped from his place as though she shouted. Scrambling to his feet, the love of her life stared at her with wide eyes, as though thinking she was a ghost, or perhaps a figment of his imagination. She did not know for how long they stood there, she, with his name on her lips, he, with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Finally, he spoke.

"You came," he croaked.

"Of course I did," she said, affronted. "Did you really think that I would not?"

"I…" he faltered, then recomposed himself. "I was a fool. However, we must go now, before anyone notices your absence."

"Yes, I gave Lord Leopold a very flimsy excuse, and I am certain that Mother would be after me in a matter of minutes. She _knows_ it's not my time yet."

"Your time…?" he asked, confused, as he began leading her away from the statue.

"Never mind," she muttered. "Men _really_ should not know of those matters."

"Oh."

Then they were silent again as they crossed the hall and went through a small door half-hidden behind one of the columns bordering the huge space.

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"It's clear!" Ryan's urgent whisper reached Gawain's ears again and again as the two lovers slipped through deserted hallways and forgotten doors. His heart beating like a drum within his chest, he tightened his hold on Ceridwen's hand and pulled her after him and into the darkness. Ryan was before them every step of the way, making sure no one was in the way.

"Who was that?" her breath tickled the back of his neck. There was a tremour in her voice - whether stemming out of fear or excitement, he could not tell.

"That was Ryan," he whispered, leading her down the steep, barely-used stone staircase that was there destination and into a darkness barely made light by his lit wand. "You will meet him later on, when we are safely married. He's the one keeping an eye out for us. No one notices him anyway, so he's the best choice to do just that."

"Where are we going?" she then asked, and he realized that she was probably scared out of her wits. "I've never been to this part of Stonehenge before."

"It's only to be expected," he said in the calmest voice possible, hoping to give her comfort. "This is the old getaway tunnel. It leads through several underground levels, all the way to the outskirts of Amblesberie. It's only known to the Lords of the Council, so you should feel privileged. One only learns of this place when becoming a Lord."

"And what would we be doing once we arrive Amblesberie?" she continued in that same small voice that was so unlike her, trying to distract her from her growing fear.

"We will meet up with Rhys, Deiniol and Hallsteinn, then we will go to a secluded place where no one will be able to find us. There Rhys will marry us."

"Does he have the qualification for it?"

He chuckled despite himself. "Are you trying to get out of this, my darling Ceridwen?"

"No!" she said, fear no longer in her voice, but outrage.

"Calm down, my love," he soothed. "You should know better than most that no qualification is needed as long as he is older than us, is a respected elder in _some_ sort of community and is willing to give his blessing. Rhys is like a father to me and is more than willing to do this for us despite the possibility of the Lord Commander being angry with him because of it. We will be lawfully wedded, Ceridwen - do not worry about it."

He knew, however, that she could not do anything _but_ worry. She was going against her father's will, she will most likely be disowned by her family and her future was unknown. If that was not cause for worry, then what was?

Once again reaffirming his grip on her hand, he wished he could give her what comfort he had. And so, in silence they continued their journey to the belly of the earth, walking the trail set by some farseeing lord somewhere in the long forgotten past.

It could have been hours or even days later when they finally emerged from the tunnel. There was no feeling of time passing within the darkness, only the blind feel of roughly hewn stone wall against his palm. There was no way of measuring how long it had taken them. All he could think of was that he was grateful it was over. He was really not one for closed spaces. The breath of fresh air on his face made him sigh in relief and loosen his hold on Ceridwen only slightly.

The exit of the getaway tunnel was disguised by an ancient spell that he was not sure anyone living at that time could duplicate. It was so complicated and practically _stank_ of Ancient Magic.

It appeared to be early morning as they stepped unto the soft grass that padded the exit from the tunnel. It had taken them the entire night to reach their destination. He was not surprised. Though he had never taken the route himself before, other lords told him that it was a very long walk underground.

But this was no time for contemplations. His sharp eyes began almost immediately to look for the three people he knew should be there. A short distance away from where they were standing stood the first houses of the Muggle village of Amblesberie, bathed by the golden light of the rising sun. To the other side was an untamed patch of woodland. Rhys and the other two Knights were nowhere to be found.

"Gawain… do you smell smoke?" Ceridwen wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning wood.

"Why - yes, I do believe you are right," he said, catching a whiff of the smell himself, and then seeing the thin, twisting column of smoke coming from behind a low hill to the left, just beside the trees.

Once again clasping hands, the two cautiously made their way to the source of the smoke. And there, just beyond the hill, was a small fire on which was a small, blackened pot that let out a pleasant fragrance of cooking meat and vegetables. Next to the fire sat three men, one older than the other two, who were about Gawain's own age.

Even without the armour on their bodies one could tell they were Knights.

Wary of alarming them, Gawain cleared his throat a safe distance away.

In seconds, the three had their wands trained at the young couple, and were already reaching for their swords. Then, however, they recognized the intruders and lowered their weapons with smiles on their faces.

"Gawain, my boy!" Rhys said in relief. "We haven't expected you for another hour yet!"

"We made good time from Stonehenge," Gawain said as he tried helping Ceridwen down the hill, only to be bluntly told off.

"Don't try cuddling me as though I was a child," she told him sharply as she marched to the three Knights. "I thank you for your willingness to help Gawain and myself, good sirs. I am Lady Ceridwen and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Got yourself a fiery one, eh?" Hallsteinn asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "I do believe you made the right choice. She will keep you right on your toes, old friend."

"I do believe you should close your mouth, Hallsteinn," Deiniol said pleasantly. "The fiery one looks as though she is ready to hex you all the way to Stonehenge and back - and I do believe she is quite capable of doing just that. Am I right, my lady?"

"Quite," Ceridwen said, and Gawain could tell that she took a liking to his two friends.

"Ceridwen," he hurriedly said. "I would like you to meet Sir Rhys. It is thanks to him that we were able to pull this off."

His future wife turning to face his old teacher, she curtsied to the man. "Pleased to meet you, Sir Rhys," she said as charmingly as possible.

"Rhys will do, child," Rhys said. "If you are to marry Gawain, then you are as good as family to me."

"Thank you," she said obviously surprised. Gawain could see a smile dawning on her face.

"Shall we go?" he asked, a little impatiently.

"First eat," Rhys said decisively. "I very much doubt the two of you stayed for the feast that was before the ball, since I already hear the search for Ceridwen has begun shortly after that."

"What!" she cried. "How can you know this? And if it is true, then we must hurry! If my father or Lord Leopold find us before we are married…"

"Calm yourself, my dear," he said, calm himself. "I know this because Reynard, another man whom your beloved had managed persuading into joining this little escapade, was there on watch and sent us an owl the moment your absence was discovered, and Gwilym, another Knight, has taken steps to make sure they thought you were running by horse - and to the other direction. The two of them will keep us posted if anyone even _thinks_ of looking near here. So please eat, and as soon as you do, we will proceed into the woods and do what we came here to do."

It was tense breakfast, and despite both of them being hungry, neither ate much. They were too much on edge to eat without the food getting stuck in their dry throats. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Rhys got up to his feet and with a few twirls of his wand had everything, from pot to fire, gone, leaving no trace that anyone had camped there.

Gawain did not know how much time had passed, for again it moved like a thick fog for him. All he knew was that they walked through the small wood, Ceridwen's hand again firmly in his as Rhys led them to a small glade where he preformed a short ceremony, with Hallsteinn and Deiniol as witnesses, very much different than the traditional one that the young couple had in mind when they realized they wanted to get married, oh-so-long ago.

But it was done. Within ten minutes, Ceridwen and Gawain were married. Without grandeur, without any flowery speeches, teary mothers or gruff fathers. They were lawfully married and even if Lord Jervis or Lord Leopold would find them now, there was nothing they could do. The couple was married and the bond was unbreakable.

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Gawain could not believe that Ceridwen was together with him, in the camp of the Order, cuddling against him, his own. And this, truly, was what amazed him the most. Ceridwen was _his_. No other man would ever be able to touch her, no matter her father's wishes. She was Ceridwen Gryffindor now, and so she would remain for the rest of her life.

He liked that. Ceridwen Gryffindor. It sounded just right.

The four Knights and the lady made their way to the camp immediately after the couple was safely wedded. There were a few close calls in which search parties looking for the Lady Ceridwen almost caught them, but at last they managed it.

It seemed as though the entire Order had known that they would come, and they all congratulated Gawain on successfully snatching his lady from under the nose of Lord Leopold. Gawain was somewhat surprised that they all knew they were married, but finally understood that it was really obvious, once one thought over it. After all, they all heard about her disappearance, and they all knew that Gawain was supposed to be at the ball as well and had disappeared early into the evening.

It was that simple, really.

The only thing that made Gawain a little subdued was that the Lord Commander was yet to arrive and therefore he could not celebrate with his partner-in-crime, the mastermind of the entire operation, who was bound to stay by his lord's side.

He really did want Ceridwen to meet Ryan.

"Gawain?" her voice suddenly startled him from his thoughts.

"Yes, love?"

"There's a bug in my food."

He leaned in to see what she was talking about and easily spotted the wriggling black creature, burrowing its way happily through the stew in his wife's plate. Smiling, he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's good for you."

Ceridwen's disgusted expression made it all worth it.

**Ahh… the joys of the military kitchen… I actually wanted Gawain to say "It's protein," but thought it was too anachronistic. That's what my mum always tells me when some fly decided doing a suicide dive into my cup when we eat outside… And that's the lesson for today, my friends. Protein's good for you - even if it comes in bug shape! ((makes gagging sounds at the back))**

**I can't promise the date in which the next chapter will arrive, as currently I am more focused on completing _The Story of Four Friends_, but I will do my best not to take too long this time… wish me luck! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers!**

**Hugs and Kisses to all!**

**-Star of the North**


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